10pm last night: ready for bed. realized the grocery getter needs to be dropped off for (overdue) inspection. awesome.
10:10: look for the monkey to see if she can babysit the prof while we go. find her passed out on the couch. dead asleep.
10:12: get dressed. pack up the prof. not HATING my life, but certainly not LOVING it, either.
10:30: back from dropping off the car. monkey still asleep on couch. me: you need to go downstairs now. her: mmmmfffapahf me: come on. time to go to bed. her: I KNOOOOOW! (with a teenage attitude)
10:30: me: if you don't get your narrow ass off of this couch and down to bed I'm going to rip your face off and eat it in front of your friends! don't you DARE give me an attitude, girlfriend. I'll end you.
10:31: the monkey goes downstairs. I go upstairs to feed the prof and put him to bed.
10:32: my nipples are in excruciating pain. I hate the world and I'm seriously considering joining Al Queda so I can kill shit.
10:45: hear the monkey's music BLARING through three stories of house. proceed to go down there and threaten her life. find music source 6 inches from her head and her...still fast asleep. I hate her just a little.
10:50: sit on couch to relax before bed. eat bowl of rice cereal with rice milk. I hate rice.
11:00ish: Oqui is ready for bed. we go up. he's asleep before I finish peeing.
11:30: still trying to sleep. awesome.
11:50ish: fall asleep.
2:45am: prof wakes up. go in to feed him. remember that I'm in excruciating pain. make mental note to join the irish republican army, too.
3:30ish: back in bed. trying to fall asleep.
4:00: sleeping...until oqui starts yelling in his sleep. add to mental list that joining an ground combat unit of the american armed forces seems like a splendid idea.
4:30: oqui yelling in sleep
5:00: oqui yelling in sleep
5:14, 5:27, 5:32: oqui yelling in sleep
5:45: prof wakes up again. I hate my life.
6:15: done feeding the prof (nipples on fire), ready for sleep. prof reminds me (with an audible fart) that he has yet to figure out the whole toilet thing.
6:20: done changing the prof. REALLY ready for sleep. prof decides he'd rather hold conversation with his toes. great.
6:50: still playing with his toes.
6:57: I've had enough of this shit. unceremoniously plop the prof in the crib and decide its daddy's turn.
6:58: tell daddy its his turn. get attitude.
7:00: fuck it. I'm going back to sleep, let them figure it out for themselves.
7:03: oqui's alarm goes off for the 15th time in the last hour. I'm so beyond angry at this point, I decide it best to feign sleep lest I land myself in the slam for manslaughter.
7:20: oqui returns from his shower to start opening and slamming drawers and closets, banging the iron and ironing board around and just generally not giving a fuck that I've been up for almost two hours.
7:21-7:58: I seethe and fume.
8:00ish: I fall asleep, again.
8:45: phone rings.
8:46: phone beeps for voicemail.
9:14: phone rings again. I answer with every intent of ascertaining the caller's location so that when I wake up...I can go and kill them.
9:15: find out the grocery getter needs tires. me: didn't I get them last year? him: I dunno. me: whatever, just put the fucking things on.
9:15 and 40 seconds: hang up on him.
9:20: still not back to sleep. send oqui text. car needs tires. $550. ready tomorrow.
9:21: phone rings. oqui: bitch, bitch, bitch. moan. seethe. roar. me: I'm sleeping. oqui: check the file for tire receipts! I'm not buying more tires! blah, blah, blah. me: I'm still sleeping. oqui: bitch, bitch, bitch.
9:23: get out of bed (extremely angrified) to check file. no receipt OF COURSE because its in the fucking car.
9:25: baby wakes up from me digging in the files.
9:30: text to oqui. the exact wording escapes me, but it definitely conveyed the fact that I pretty much hate his ever loving guts, despise my life and want, very badly, to murder something...oh yeah...and that the receipt wasn't in the file.
10:44: exhausted...with those floaty thingies on the periphery of my vision. hungry...still hating rice. still in excruciating, mind numbing pain. seriously considering packing a couple of pairs of clean undies and some contact solution and disappearing for a few days...or as long as it takes to get a little sleep...
and possibly some fucking respect for what I'm doing around here.
how long, exactly, does "never gonna happen" take?
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