Baloney

I can't find the fucking time for anything anymore.

I have this manager, he really, really doesn't live up to the name. Assholeager, Fucktardager, Pudager, Douchebagager would all suit him much better. And if the fuck were on fire I wouldn't piss or spit on him to put him out. How's that for Customer Service you sleaze? Okay, okay...he can manage some things. He can manage to get his pecker outta his pants to cheat on his wife, he can manage to rub all over a person, and he can manage to make me want to take his eyeballs out with tobasco and toothpicks.

Also, I've put in too many hours of my life in a place at a job that really isn't worth my time.
Where I am underappreciated and screwed over...and it just makes it worse that he's there. I don't need a boss I can't respect.

I should just quit and homeschool my kids. Apparently my kids are the kids "with problems", and being as how they're the kids "with problems" it doesn't matter what kind of incident happens within their orbits at school, they will be the ones to blame because they "HAVE PROBLEMS." Damnation, everyone has problems SOMETIMES.
Being the push over that I am, the normally quiet and trying to blend into the wall type, or be as small as possible type...anyway, writing was my way to vent. And I can't even do that anymore, and my head is so damn full but nothing will string together anymore as I feel it should. And it is truly shitty.
Bastian has taken to calling me baloney. That I don't care about them anymore, and durdurdurdurdur...I tell him I'm not just any friggin bologna, I am WUNDERBAR, the Cadillac of bolognas, and at least they'll never go hungry. But what he really means is that I'm so stressed I can't see anything clearly anymore. He is correct, I am pathetic. Stress makes for blown fuses and unwashed windows. Who can see anything through all that film?
So, I'll evolve. No more driving down the street wondering if Sage is safely secure enough in her car seat for me to just run into a telephone pole and have her come out A-OK. I mean, I won't actually do it. My next thought is asking myself just what in the hell is wrong with me. So there still is some small secret haven of sanity there. Just in one big ol' bay of bullshit. Movement!that is the answer! Maybe I need a hug. Maybe I need a smile. Maybe I need a roll in the hay. Maybe I need a Wunderbar sammich. With dill mustard. Capers and Lemon!
Whatever, I'll figure it out.