I'll be honest: The only thing that is keeping me from pouring myself a giant glass of wine at 1:12 pm, just about an hour before I need to pack up and pick the kids up from school, is a wet kitchen floor. I'd take my chances with showing up on the playground with wine breath. I'd deal with the judgment. I just can't handle a footprint in that shitty kitchen floor that I worked so hard to mop 2 minutes ago.
Today has not been great. Not great at all. I've made a compromise that I'd like to feel okay about, but I don't. I'm still pissed off about it. I want to feel like I did something out of generosity and love and that this will be worth it, but I don't. Today, compromise feels like having to choose between drinking razor blades OR bashing in your own head with a sledgehammer: there is no joy in compromise today.
I'm getting increasingly pissed off about the sudden $355 monthly increase in our property taxes, effective on 12/1/11. Yes, you read that correctly: our property taxes are going up $355 per month in less than two weeks. We missed the date to appeal the increase and won't get a chance to do so until February. Which means $355 extra each month for the next three months. Fuckers. Fuckers from the city. They're going to make it impossible to stay here. I wonder how long it'll take until we're murdered in our new home in Cicero.
If, Dear Husband, you've decided to read this blog, unprovoked by me, stop right now, or you'll ruin your birthday gift.
We're making Daddy's birthday gift. It's coming along nicely, but I would have been a lot smarter to have had the idea about two weeks ago. We're going to be up until 12 am finishing this bitch off, 2 am if I start drinking and need to 'shut my eyes' for a few minutes. I can anticipate the 11-year old will be angry that I did more work on the gift than I said I would. I can anticipate the 8-year old will want to invest 6 minutes into the project and then cry to play Wii.
Floor is dry. I'm pouring myself a glass of wine.