general abuse of my good nature
Tuesday, Jun. 14, 2005,

The main reason W called on Sunday was to bitch about T. Seems T threw a tantrum for a backyard pool, so W caved, and they got it on Sunday. Then T threw a hissy to put it up NOWNOWNOW, and W caved. Despite the fact that their yard is SERIOUSLY uneven, and setting it up COULD NOT be successful, and doing it wrong would be TWICE AS MUCH WORK. Then T left for a week. Right in the middle of the whole megillah.

Leaving W, as usual, to deal with the chaos she trails in her wake. So, of course, good friend whyme spent Monday evening hauling fill dirt and helping W level her yard. Exhausted as I was, I shoveled and hauled and dumped and compacted till dark. As an added bonus, I got to listen to W bitch incessantly about the whole thing. Oh, yay.

And when I got home around nine, I still had to do dishes, wash a load of clothes, walk the dog, set up my coffee, lay out my clothes, and shower all the grime and sweat off, before I could go to bed.

Work is impossible; priority changes and development delays have begun to converge, causing all the current/upcoming projects to concentrate around two dates: one is the week they are refreshing our environment and wiping out all existing data (which will cause all testing to start over from scratch in the middle of a cycle). The other is the week I'm off for hand surgery. Naturally.

Fuck, I really hate that place.

Get home at 5, Wash dishes, clean counters, sweep floors in order to deal with the huge kitchen mess Spouse left. Do laundry, water the flowers, empty wastebaskets, take the dog out, haul all the trash and recycling out to the curb, AND deal with his passive-aggressive little demands, like leaving a dirty pitcher and two packets of Koolaid sitting on the counter. (You can just hear the unspoken "Get in the kitchen and make my drink, bitch" hanging in the air.)

Scarf down a lean cuisine, change clothes, get the shovel, and head over to W's by 6:30.

Shovel dirt, haul dirt, and shovel dirt, empty the 150 pounds or so of water left from Sunday's aborted pool-filling attempt, move the collapsed pool, which still weighs about 100 pounds, out of the way. Listen to W continue to bitch incessantly about the whole thing.

And, again, when I got home around nine, wash another load of clothes, walk the dog, set up my coffee, lay out my clothes, and shower all the grime and sweat off, before I could go to bed.