Drano

I've lost it. I've lost my blogging mojo. There's too much Facebook. Too much just sitting and absorbing and not enough interacting. I'm thinking that regardless of the Zoloft, there is still an underlying problem. I'm thinking that the Zoloft helps me deal with day to day life and keep it together, but that there is still a sadness there that I'm not dealing with. And that it's drawing me inward.

Or, I'm just lazy and don't want to write lately.

Either way, I'm here now. And grumpy. Aren't you glad you stopped by? Seriously though. The construction on our house is still going on, and for whatever reason, people seem to suck.

If you underbid on a construction project, take four times longer than you quote, act like an asshole while I'm in LABOR, and then still don't finish the job? Most people won't pay you. Not my husband. He goes ahead and chalks it up as a loss and pays you what was promised because he feels sorry for you and also wants you gone. Then you bitch about how much time you spent on the job and how little money an hour that works out to, and you threaten to kill him and do some other ridiculously stupid things that we won't talk about here. Yet. Because we're not finished with them.

Seriously. The guy is four times slower and doesn't finish and we're supposed to pay him more? Right.

Then, today, D the drunken painter, who I have previously thought was awesome, proceeded to piss me off beyond belief. He asks for a third of his pay, which I happily provide him in the form of a check. Mind you, I had asked him yesterday if a check was still alright with him. He's worked for us twice before, and I've always written checks. So I give him a check and the bitching begins.

Our USAA account apparently is a problem for him. Translation, he doesn't have a bank account and needed to go to our bank (which doesn't have physical branch) in order to cash the check. I cannot tell you how much of my problem this is NOT.

Without the gory details, he was not pleased with the mere $300 the ATM would give me at one time and proceeded to bitch to me about us not having a local bank account. So I pointed out that he must not even have ANY bank account, and that pissed him off.

Seriously. I'm supposed to drive around town going to ATM's, collecting cash for Mr. Pisspants the drunken painter because he's not responsible enough to keep a checking account of his own?

What the hell is wrong with people? Are we not in a recession? Why is it we can't find decent, honest, sane, and hard working people to work for us when so many people are out of work?

Yeah. Maybe this is why my mojo seems to be gone. The whole house thing is not going well, and I haven't wanted to write about it in a public way. Because there is some seriously bad stuff that's gone down. Like changing locks and watching my rearview mirror bad. But you know what? I'm tired of hiding out and not talking. I'm tired of being scared. I'm sick of it all. I want my house done. I want my life back. I want my husband to quit having all of this work hanging over his head.

I'M SO DONE.

One thing I've learned from experience in blogging and having crazy people read it. How to get a restraining order. Kidding. No, actually, I'm not.

So I'll be back to talking about whatever the hell I want to talk about and fuck the crazies. They will do whatever they want to anyway, so I'm done tiptoeing around them.

And yes, I'm aware that not much of this made any sense, but it felt good, and I'm hoping that it's going to unclog whatever has been keeping me from writing.