Well after such a positive day yesterday…. today can go fuck itself.
I don’t even know where to start. Christiaan says at the beginning but I’m not sure me scratching my arse and denying I can hear Eli crying in his bedroom showers me in glory so I’ll start from when I realised the clock said 5.15am and the cat was moaning like it was giving birth, which was worrying, because it was Bear, and Bear is a boy. I’m sure Bear must think “fuck me it’s dull in here, I bet she’s only laid down because she doesn’t know that the ball is just downstairs. I’ll go and fetch it, she’ll be right excited… I JUST KNOWZ IT” he brings me a toy, or several most nights/mornings and there’s always a song and fucking dance to accompany it. He announces “the arrival of the ball” by singing the song of his people in short bursts before dropping the ball, or whatever he’s brought on my face, on the bed or beside the bed; where he pretends to catch it again and eventually gets it on the bed. This is very different to Bonnie, she gets progressively louder until you are utterly convinced that she’d kidnapped a small child and is killing it by your bedside – she at least leaves the toy on the floor.
So Bear. He’s thick but he’s also a bit of a twat. Now don’t get me wrong, he’s beautiful but he’s just not right in the head. He flew off a 15ft banister at 10 weeks old breaking his leg – he literally pissed all over the cats always land on their feet myth. He jumps up to places and can’t get down, regularly misses whatever he’s trying to land in/on and trips over his own feet. He sits on TOP of his bed rather than in it. He’s allergic to his own mouth plaque (true story) and had to have some teeth out, as a result his tongue is often out. He licks things. This is Bear.
So, 5.15am. Bear is howling, Eli is moaning and Christiaan is still blissfully unaware that the world has started. He’s having the soundest, most beautiful sleep. So I woke him up. There is no fucking way I am dealing with this shitty start to the day on my own while he’s asleep. Not when I feel like someone one has been at me in the night and poured concrete through my whole body (I’d not be surprised if it was Bear), nah, he can share the misery.
So we got up and there had been an interesting development over night. We now had a ceiling vagina in the kitchen.
A drippy, saggy, ceiling vag *sigh*.
Christiaan switches the water off, I phone the insurance people and we’re told a plumber will be out soon. Soon is not fucking soon, it’s 1pm which was 7 hours after I phoned them – it’s gone from a neat vagina to a burst couch. I could tell you every to and fro with the plumber(s), yep plural because we’ve spoken to not one, but two today and the insurance company multiple times but it’s dull and I already feel like punching a granny so it’s not a good idea. Anyway, it’s not fixed and not likely to be until Thursday. It’s still dripping, the gusset is getting lower and I’m all Chicken Licken (see Charlotte, I DO listen, I didn’t call it Chicken Little ever again once you told me) waiting for the roof to collapse. I’ve told both the insurance company and the plumbers that this is more of a when than an if and they need to get their shit sorted. Their shit is not sorted so we’re just waiting for the crash…. and yes we’ve tried switching it off at the the mains, don’t go all fix it mode on me.
This was not the day for this to happen. I’m getting worse rather than better at the minute; I’ve mentioned the cycle before and I’m hoping I’m midst flare rather than going through a general deterioration because, well no because, it had just better fucking stop. Eli’s not well today either, he’s gone from throwing epic magnificent trilogy length tantrums to cuddling in,he sounds a lot like Phylis from Coronation Street used to (gawd bless her) Looking at this pic I’m not sure who looks worse…. at least he has youth on his side. Given his hoarse voice, epic drool and lack of appetite we’re presuming its a throat thing coupled with the back molars cutting which STILL.HAVE.NOT.ARRIVED. Fucked if I know for sure but we’ll keep an eye on it. Also that’s not a can of lager in the background, it’s Christiaan’s energy drink. A sugar free one; how the fuck that works is beyond me.
So we’re sat watching Dave and Ava which although sounds like utter cock is in fact… utter cock. For those that aren’t familiar with it, we’re dealing a cartoon consisting of two kids dressed in cat onesies (for reasons unknown) with huge starey judging eyes. They are creepy creepy bastards and they sing kids songs and nursery rhymes, all the time. Here they are…. I’ve no idea what they’re doing to that chicken, why that chicken is wearing a hat, or what that chicken has to do with head shoulders knees and toes considering it only has 50% of the required biological anatomy but that’s only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to my concerns with this pair. They appear to live with Old McDonald and a Scary Spice and I don’t know many Americans, in fact none, called Dave. I’ll say no more, I don’t want to ruin it for you when you watch it for yourself (click here)
Next in line for the bad news… that fucking tunic. The denim one. No fucker wants it. If ever I wanted proof that the universe hates me its this. 288 views, no bids. I’m going to end up keeping the bastard thing, it’ll go in the wardrobe and I’ll give it a go again in a few weeks and the whole miserable cycle will start again. If you’ve no idea what I’m rattling on about you need to go back and read this (click this) Even my eBay sales suffer from lethargy – fucks sake.
It’s 5.15pm when I’m writing this, it’s scheduled to publish just after 8pm so if you’re commenting on Facebook or the blog page itself I might be a bit longer replying – I’m going to bed. You’ll need to forgive me (I give none of the shits if you don’t) I’m not in a good way – my fingers hurt typing this, actually my fuck you finger (the middle right) has started moving of its own accord these last few days… I’d like to think its my bullshit radar so I’ve been keeping my eyes peeled for any but ironically my eyes ache, which added to my bones feeling like broken glass, the stupid fucking frozen bullets and being so knackered I could sleep a million years is making me feel a bit miserable. Eli is supposed to be in nursery tomorrow but I can’t see that happening unless he makes a spectacular recovery so, my plan to rest and try and get over this next bump looks flawed at that stage. I am doomed to keep sliding down this hill I think….but…who knows what the morning will bring though?
A caved in ceiling I reckon.