I’m having a shitty day.
Thankfully, I’ve got friends who are SO uber-stellar that they’ve been plastering my Facebook and Twitter feed with photos of “Colour” …bright…vivid…make you taste-the-fucking-happy you just can’t help but smile about.
I’ve been feeling so oh-so-very taken for granted…a convenience… I’m over-processed to the point of tears…I want to crawl in a hole and eat ice cream and send a picture of me eating ice cream to my endo with a big, fat smile on my drooly face because it’s a fucking KEGGER of ice cream and I don’t much giveth-a-shiteth…
*takes a breath*
But, I did not.
Instead, like any good advocate will do in their oh-so-very, Ben & Jerry’kind’o’picture-perfect life can tell you…
I “DID” shit.
Specifically…the getting of shit done today included going all mutha’ fuckin’ Ghostbusters on the fruit flies in my kitchen.
Picture, if you dare…a crazed, maniacal, really, REALLY pissed off woman standing in the midst of her small-assed box of a kitchen with a vacuum pointing the hose end straight up in the air sucking up all the little bastard fruit flies shouting death threats to the ceiling…
I am that bat-shit crazy.
And, that pissed off.
Nonetheless, the beef stew preparation for camping is now done, as is the pulled pork. And the Russian chicken. And the turkey burrito filling. AND, the spaghetti sauce. Oh! And the sausage crumble. Pre-prepped camp food.
I’m thankful the crockpots survived the Fruit Fly Apocalypse, 2013. Well, and the pot lights. Uh, the cupboards, too…while we’re at it. (O.O)
Do not MAKE me tell you what I’d found earlier in my baking pantry. I even took a video. It was…too traumatic for words.
Needless to say, the baking, most assuredly, did NOT get done.
2.5 hours later…………………………………………the pantry was fucking spotless.
The point of discussing my less-than-stellar day?
1) #gladitude: the friends and husband that took the time to send some colour in to my shitty day was an incredible up-lift;
2) I’m allowed to have a shitty day because tomorrow is a brand spankin’ new day and I own my shit on such a regular basis that it entitles me to a temporary reprieve from all things “life-like-Martha-Stewart”; and
3) When people spew out rumour and lies because you’re clearly making something of yourself busting your ass and baring it all over the interwebs and in public (in a totally NOT clothing-related way….*shifty eyes*…) to help people in similar circumstances…because all they see is some pompous bitch with a sense of entitlement…
…you can get an idea that the grass ain’t so hot-shit green on this mutha fucking side, and that maybe…just maybe…if they inwardly reflected upon the awesomeness of what it is that you’re trying to do with what you’ve been given…they might just have an idea of just how hard it really, really is.
Ghostbusting fruit flies.
True story. 😉