Q: So how’s it going?
A: Meh. Is there a half word that means that things are going worse than “meh”? Oh, wait. That’s what the F-bomb is for.
Q: That good, huh?
A: Yep. It’s been 6 months since we spoke to the Boy last. I thought we’d turned a corner on dealing with this long ago, but it turns out it’s more like the time Homer Simpson thought he’d climbed Mount Springfield only to discover that Mount Springfield is really 1,000 times higher than he’d thought.
Q: So what are you going to do?
A: It’s probably safer if I don’t say. I don’t really know anyway.
Q: Happy Early Birthday
A: Ugh, thanks. If next weekend sucks as bad as THIS weekend…
Q: So, ya ever plan to piss or get off the pot, Plan B wise?
A: I am off the pot, actually. I am so far off the pot I am in a totally different room now. I may start taking something to make sure I never, ever want to pee again.
Q: Do you think you can go further with this baby/bathroom analogy?
A: I hope not.
Q: Did you always know you were a big huge drama queen?
A: No. This is a new(ish) discovery. My self absorption knows no limits. And let me tell you how much my husband LOVES it when my reaction to his sorrow is “ME ME ME”.
Q: Reading anything new?
A: Nope, I went to the library and the Barnes & Noble today but no one has written a book called “Hitting your head against a wall until it feels good: When your husband’s bitch ex-wife alienates his own child against him”.
Q: Maybe you can write it?
A: Maybe, but maybe not. It would probably win a prize for “Most Creative Cursing in a Self-Help Book”, so maybe I’d get a medal or a cash prize.