Friday

Don't know how many breaking points there are in a woman.  I'm bound and determined to break every fucking one, though. 

Can't take my blood pressure right now, Nurse Ratchett, the monitor don' go to bajillion. 

Throwing things doesn't really help. But I gave it a fucking shot. 

I am now applying Terra french-cut Parsnip Chips liberally to all the stressed places. The salt burns gooooooooooooooooood.

I will deal with the bruised adolescent psyche when I get home.  

For Yahoo's information, Today is not the day to be a bitch.  I will find you and eat you, mutherfuckers.

Is it still Friday?

Damn!

Well, after the amazingmous kokopelleigh talked me down out of my clock tower and pried the AK-47 from my trembling death grip, I managed to get hold of my day. I bought about $20 worth of candy and cookies (and potatochips) before I came into the office, and now I don't feel like I'mmagonna kill nobody no more.

um-hum

So I'll head home in half an hour and give Scarlett her last opportunities to play her little computer games and sass her mother. The toys will be bagged this weekend while she's gone, and she will begin the long slow torturous process of winning them back.  

Yes, I committed the bigger of the two sins this morning, between us.  But the screaming has gone on too long.  

So sayeth I, yea and verily.