This day has been the clusterfuck from hell.
Yesterday, I went with ChaosKitty to Birmingham for her doctor's appointment. Neither of us slept a whole bunch the night before, so we both decided last night that we'd take medicine and go to bed early. She's sick with what I'm starting to get over, so we both clearly needed the rest. Ok, fine, right?
Well, this morning at 6 am, the goddamn smoke detector started beeping. Not going off like something was on fire, but beeping because the fucking battery was low. AT 6 AM. Of course, I had no 9-volt batteries in the house. So after listening to it for 30 minutes without being able to go back to sleep, I was seriously contemplating shooting the fucking thing.
Good sense prevailed, though, and I staggered sleepily into the kitchen to get something to stand on with the vague idea of putting the battery in the freezer for a little while, then sticking it back in the smoke detector, in hopes of squeezing enough juice out of it to shut it up until I could go out to get a replacement battery at a more reasonable hour. I grabbed a stool from the kitchen and climbed up on it, holding the wall for support.
Well, I managed to get up and get the battery out of the damn thing. It was the return trip that was less than pleasant.
As I was squatting down so I could step off the stool, it started to tip over on the uneven floor. I grabbed desperately for the door frame, but it wasn't enough to right myself. So I wound up falling off the damn thing, then landing on it and rolling off the side. I bruised and scratched myself up in several spots on my legs, and also managed to wrench both my left wrist and my already fucked up left ankle, which I still have a lot of trouble with due to a bad injury 15 years ago. Naturally, I began screaming every curse I could think of, which woke ChaosKitty up and scared the fuck out of her.
In the end, we ended up having to go out this morning at like 6:45 to Walgreen's to get a goddamn 9-volt battery that cost SEVEN DOLLARS for just one. I was so pissed.
We finally got it replaced, which shut the fucker up, and went back to bed. Naturally, at 9, right about the time we'd both gotten back to sleep good, the fucking pest control guy shows up. And bang on the door. And bang. And bang. And bang. AND BANG. Then, he tried to come in. Then, realizing that the latch had caught the door, he proceeded to BANG SOME MORE.
Look, dickface, if we didn't come to the door the first time you pounded like a goddamn creditor, we're not going to come the fiftieth time, either, so just FUCK OFF.
But, still, it gets better.
After deciding that I have walking pneumonia now, due to the achy chest, the unrelenting dry cough that doesn't go away, despite the cough drops and the cough medicine and the inhaler, and, most importantly, the fucking death rattle in my chest, I went out to lunch with ChaosKitty. Right after we came back, my mother called. Apparently, my daddy was hurt again today at work.
While he was unloading the trailer, a cabinet fell on him. A cabinet that was so big and heavy that he couldn't move it off of himself. Now, my daddy is NOT a small man. It took two of the people who worked at the place he was delivering to to get the fucking cabinet off of him.
He's on his way home now, but he thinks he has a broken rib and some damage to his kidneys. My mama tried to make him go to the doctor there, but he wants to wait til he gets back here. I hope he makes it home without puncturing a lung or something. :(
This has happened so many times, but this is the worst of all. I seriously think it's time someone talked to a lawyer because the company is aware of all these drivers getting hurt by these improperly loaded 700-pound cabinets, but they won't do anything. At the very least, someone needs to drop a call to OSHA.
It's just really fucking upsetting to me. I mean, he's my daddy, and he's not young anymore. He's 62. And, clearly, no one at that place he works at gives a shit one way or the other.
And THEN, I posted about it on Facebook and got several "We'll pray for him" comments. Not a "How is he?" or a "What happened?" or an "Is he ok?" or even an "Are you ok?" Just "We'll pray."
You know, I don't have a problem with people praying. What I DO have a problem with is using someone else's personal crisis as a way to make sure everyone knows you're a "good Christian." You obviously don't give a shit one way or another, or you'd have asked something. But nope. You just jumped up to say you'd pray and then went on about your merry little way, content in the fact that now everyone on Facebook knows you love Jesus.
Apparently, we missed all Jesus's rants about the Pharisees when we read the Bible, eh?
And, then, to top it all off, someone saw it on my Facebook and CALLED MY MOTHER about it. They couldn't be bothered to just, you know, ask me. Oh, no, they had to make a big production out of it. You know, to make sure everyone knows what good people they are.
I got SO angry. I hate when people use religion as a tool to make themselves look good. I mean, if my friends prayed for me and my daddy, I'd appreciate that. But when it's people I never even talk to because they only added me on Facebook to be all up in my business since I was the only one in town who had the audacity to leave and never come back? Fuck you.
So I ended up purging everyone from that shithole of a town from my friends list except for the 3-4 of them I still talk to periodically. And now I feel so much better.
Like I said, I'm done with drama and bullshit. I'm cutting it out of my life.
That being said, if anyone who actually does give a shit about me would like to remember me and my daddy to the big JC, I would certainly not be averse to it. Just don't be a dickbag about it.
Aaaand now the Internet's gone out. I guess I'll post this tomorrow when it's back up, then.
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