As the Drama Flies...

I usually name my mythical soap operas _All My [NOUN]s_, mad-lib style. But my life is definitely As the Drama Flies. And believe me, it’s flying pretty damn low, right now.

Got some expensive and some not-so-expensive stuff to try and train the hound not to chew shit he shouldn’t chew. Neither of said stuff is waterproof.

Gave selfsame stuff to Hubby and Mostly Shiftless. It hasn’t been seen since.

It rained.

Dog decided to gnaw on the most expensive part of the linkage between Shiftless’ car and the trailer, which took all weekend to fix. Now we’re down $600 and the rent won’t be in for six goddamn weeks just so we can pay for it.

Six weeks of pulling my head in so far, it almost emerges from the other end.

Now, you may also recall from my earlier posts that my legs are not fully functioning. As part of better news, I have to go get a passport. I figure the kids should behave themselves for the five minutes it should take to get this underway.

As I frequently say: Should is not Is.

The queue for the post office was a mile fucking long.

The kids were hyper because their routine was amiss. They got to the point where they were trying to eat each other’s clothes.

Last night, I had finally got in the good, long soak in Epsom’s salts, Relaxo Crystals [not their real name], bubble bath and bath roses. It did my joints SUCH a good job that I was better for most of the day.

Not after the post office.

My knee is back to it’s grinchy self. My wrists are aching. My ankle is threatening to quit.

Expletives deleted. Extensively.

We also had to go shopping, which meant sending Mayhem into Aldi’s with a list and my money. The only thing he got right was the milk and the carrots. And he had to buy himself a treat when I spend practically every conversation with him telling him how little money we’ve got.

So the sugarless gum he bought is going to Hubby - mostly ‘cause I can’t stand artificial sugar. I’m pissed off and in pain. AND I have to roast the damn marinated chook he found “the only kind there”, he claims… because you can’t make chook soup out of marinated fucking chicken.

I only have the cash I’ve got, and then it’s gone.

On the upside, I have an upcoming three weeks of retail therapy in Thailand, come April. Three weeks without whiny, lying kids. Three weeks without worry about hubby. Three weeks in, insofar as I’ve been told, paradise. Three weeks that the in-laws shall have sharing company with Chaos, Mayhem and mutt.

I’m going to love it.