For Fuck's Sake Friday!

This post is linked up with Dear Baby G

It contains language and material which may offend but I don't give a rats.

I wrote several days ago about all the stuff I was trying to do all at one time and how freaking emo it made me, especially when WonderMan lets the side down and doesn't do what I very clearly need him to fucking do. Well the forms that were already two weeks late have only just been handed in by him after more than four weeks. When I bounce him about it he gets his fucking sulk on. Talking to him at the moment is so frustrating I have burst a blood vessel in my eye. FFS.

I really like my job, but the fifteen hours a week promised is bullshit and has averaged out to less than five and it's ridiculous to consider that I am in any way benefiting from holding this job, except that it gives me something to do and an excuse for the housework not to be done. FFS.

I had to sit through a meeting in which The Bitch abused me from before it started until it ended two hours later. And all I want to do is fucking punch her senseless but I'm not allowed to do that. FFS.

I have to spend my nights waking every twenty minutes because she's a complete fucking loose cannon and it's more than likely I could get a brick through my window or have my house set alight or have some fucking drugged up fuckwit try to shoot me. FFS.

My parents are still making me feel like I'm imposing on them every time I fucking see them. Like they are the only people in the world who are tired, or overworked, or stressed. Because looking after a baby is so fucking hard and no one else in the world has ever done it before. You know, because I'm not solo parenting two children myself or anything. FFS.

School holidays have started and until Christmas I don't think there will be one day that I get to spend with Tiger without a to do list longer than China. FFS.

In between everything I have had on in the last few weeks it has come to my attention that I have eight days in which to do my Christmas shopping and one of those is a Sunday. FFS.

I have an appointment in BoganCity on the 20th which means I have to squash in my entire shopping on that day, the 4 hour round trip, juggle a baby and go to the appointment in the hours childcare is open because GOD FORBID I ask my parents to look after my children for an hour or two. FFS.

I have to go into BoganVille shopping centre four days before Christmas on a SINGLE PARENT PENSION DAY and avoid committing homicide.FFS.

And I am pretty much guaranteed that I will run into Tiger's father, who will simper and wheedle and attempt to manipulate me into feeling guilty about the fact that he hasn't bothered to ring his daughter in three years, and his several sandwiches short of a picnic wife/exwife/wife whatever will say something fucking ridiculous about how much of a loving father he is while sporting a black eye. And I'm not allowed to kill either of them. FFS.

I dropped a note at work today and the second I bent down to pick it up was the second the automatic till, the one with the key sticking out of it, decided to open and smack me in the head at full force, leaving a fucking great dent (fast becoming a bruise) on my head. FFS.

My epi site is swollen, and my mysteriously broken arse is agony, meaning I'm currently walking like a lopsided scarecrow, and I have to dance a second concert on Sunday. FFS.

I fell asleep on the couch and dragged myself to bed not even giving a shit about not blogging or tweeting or emailing or whatever, and then some local suicidal fuckwit decided to come down my street torturing the engine of his car and shaking my windows as he screamed past out of control. And has done several out of control laps around the block since. Now I can't sleep for fear he is going to end up driving into my bedroom. FFS.

So at least he was useful for something before he kills himself and/or me because I managed to punch out a rage and fear fuelled FFS Friday post.

BRILLIANT. Bravo. Well done that man.

The most irritating thing about the whole deal is that I will be at work tomorrow morning, with big dark rings under my eyes, trying not to cry from sheer exhaustion, and some fucking twat is going to make a crack about partying my night away because. they. just. can't. help. themselves.

FOR FUCK'S SAKE.