I was supposed to blog about the Emmys after parties today but I can’t because my internet, after finally kicking into life after three weeks, has died again.
Farketty fark fark fark.
iinet have no acceptable answers for me, other than I should try using some sort of splitter box thing that I’ll have to track down today, loooong after the Emmys after parties have ended.
I vaguely recall having one of those splitter box thingies at the old house, but gawd knows where it ended up.
And I don’t have anything else up my sleeve for the blog other than general crossness.
OK, not so general. Very specific.
You see, I’ve moved from hurt to angry with my crappy friend. You’d think having so many wonderful friends would make up for the one shite one, but nope.
Oh the ripper arguments I’ve had with the shite one in my head. I’ve torn strips off. Not that I’m brave enough to actually say anything to them in real life.
Confrontation is SO not my thing.
But even undirected anger is probably a more healthy state of mind than misery. And requires far fewer Kleenex.
In happier news, the kids came back yesterday and have been a delight. As we walked home from school, the youngest griped about being one of only three kids in her class going to something called “spelling mastery” (I love how I only hear about such things from my child rather than their teacher).
The youngest believes she’s quite a good speller and seemed shirty about it. When I asked if she wanted me to talk to the teacher about her not going, she said yes. Then she quickly revised her answer to “no” because they give her lollies at the end.
Very susceptible to bribery that one, which is why I suspect she’ll warm to the tramp when she finally meets her, providing there are appropriate gifts involved.
Meanwhile, the eldest was tossing up going as a vermicious knid to her book week band performance. Now there’s a girl who’ll never walk the road most travelled. (The youngest, on the other hand, is going as Dumbo, which says a lot about her interest in literature.)
Then we went and larked around at the pool before their swimming lessons. All the regular stuff – a vigorous game of tip, followed by me making a whirlpool in the circular side pool and, when my legs finally gave out, a spot of piggy in the middle with a ball.
My fake tan was still looking rather flash, so I felt very glamorous in the water with my golden limbs.
A bowl of duck and Jerusalem artichoke pasta at the pub afterwards went down rather nicely too.
It reminded me: I have a good life, despite my lack of internet access. I am a good person, who didn’t deserve to be treated so poorly.
And it’s the shite friend’s loss, not mine.
So fark ’em.