Oh where is my bed?

(Sing the title of my post to the song of the VeggieTales Tune-The Hairbrush song)

Did I mention I'm exhausted?

My day was just peachy.  Got up, called tech support over the thing at work FROM HOME, got it handled, only to have the client go to an alternative source.  Went in to work early, took care of the situation, went back home, took a nap, woke up late because That Man conveniently forgot about some things he had to do so he didn't call me in time to get up and get things done.  Worse, he wasn't going to get home in time for me to get to work in time and I had a busy schedule of appointments. Got THAT worked out, got  to my appointment just a couple of minutes late (I called them and worked it out :) ).   Had a fairly great night at work.

My early clients were just so delightful.  I mean, really nice folks. Had a great time.  Got stuff done.  I'm almost nearly caught up on my work. (I got behind, thanks to my tech support nightmare).  I don't care what company it is, tech support sucks.  Dear computer people, my computer crashed, can you help?  No habla english... (except that it's usually some dude in India, I don't know the Indian phrase for it).  Dear bank people, you screwed up my account (eh?  No comprendo).  Oh wait, that wasn't my point... so it was a fairly nice evening.  Got to chat with my friendly neighborhood shyster client, who felt the need to explain over the phone to me why he wasn't a shyster for 30 minutes.  Dude, I don't care.  I think you're a sleaze, however, I let the IRS make that determination.  That's life.  Pay your taxes.  Then die.  If the IRS isn't happy with that,then they will simply go after your estate.  It all works out in the end.  To their favor, not yours.

So as I very patiently (while wanting to ring idiot's neck) listened and explained, my coworkers were nominating me for sainthood.  See, that's the thing I don't get.  I could list all sorts of people who commend me for my patience.  I am not a patient person.  Frankly, I think most people are morons, and I really don't enjoy dealing with them.  I enjoy mocking them, yes. But really, dealing with stupid people is at the bottom of my list of favorite activities.   I spend the conversation imagining different ways of knocking them off.   Huh.  If you're dealing with a moron, think about knocking them off with a smile on your face, and everyone else will think you're a fabulous person.

Seriously.  I am not that good of a person.  I'm not patient.   And yes, I can smile and make nice with the worst of them.  I may look like it on the outside, but I don't feel like that on the inside.  So it BUGS me that I have all these people thinking I'm this great person.  I'd love to live up to that, but really, I have visions of exploding bombs dancing in my head.

And then I come home, and find lots more things to add to the list of why That Man needs to be strung from the nearest tree.  But I'm such a great wife and mother... ARGH.  I issue daily death threats against him. I am having to continually repent of my bad thoughts about him and pray for God to give me strength and wisdom in dealing with him.  I ask God DAILY to either change That Man so I can live with him or change me so I don't kill him.  People think I'm joking, but I assure, I am not.  Okay, I am joking-I could never kill anyone unless they directly threatened the life of someone I loved.  Even then, I'd probably only maim, and end up feeling guilty about it for the rest of my life.

I had a point about this, but really, it all goes back to the bed.  Which is where I want to be.  But I'm so mad at That Man that I'm liable to toss and turn or kick him until he wakes up long enough for me to let him have it with both barrels and then not sleep all night because I feel bad about waking his stupid snoring stinky butt up.  Yes, my bedroom smells like man butt again.  One of the items on the list. 

I'm supposed to take the kiddos on a play date tommorrow, but I'm beat and probably won't get up early enough to go.  Plus, my house is a disaster, and I ought to pick it up before it is condemned by the health department.  The thing that sucks about having the man home is that I just have one more child to clean up after.  But he is getting his paperwork done, slowly but surely, so I am thankful for that. I'm thankful he hasn't allowed the children to blow up the house.  I'm thankful the children haven't tied him up and scalped him.  And, even though it's hanging from furniture in weird ways, I'm thankful I have clean underwear.

Now to work my way through the jungle of toys, dirty and clean laundry, pieces of toxic waste I'd rather not have identified, and hopefully find my bed-if I can make enough room on it for me to sleep, since That Man (despite my frequent complaints) has yet again allowed the children to sleep in our bed.