Wanting to scream

I went for a socially distanced walk with my sister yesterday and mentioned that life feels like a crazy movie plot right now … not quite real.

There are other parts of it that feel far too mundanely real, like how much teenagers eat when they are home 24/7 and how much mess they make while preparing the things to eat.

I was getting very close to the edge about it last night.

Also on my WTF list … I do not understand why teenagers can’t shut kitchen cupboard doors. Well, mine can’t, can yours?

I spend half my life walking around the kitchen shutting things, rinsing out empty containers and putting them in the recycling bin, and turning the dishwasher on.

The dishwasher goes on at least twice a day because so many plates and pans are used.

And you’d think there would be less washing with no one leaving the house, but when I’m not shutting kitchen cupboard doors, I’m putting another load of dirty clothes in the machine.

I. Am. Ready. To. Scream.

But I am luckier than many because my kids go to their dad’s place two nights a week. That means there are two days when I only have to put the dishwasher on once and the kitchen cupboards aren’t constantly flapping open. Hallejulah!

Of course, there are still dogs yapping and piles of junk taunting me in every corner as I try to clear out my garage, but it’s a semi respite.

The real respite was supposed to be five nights on the South Island of New Zealand from this Thursday, but the bloody coronavirus put the kibosh on that.

Oh what a different and naive world we lived in a few weeks ago when we booked that.

Instead, another week of expanded restrictions stretch before me.

The cruelest blow is that ScoMo has announced I can only exercise with one person at a time, so my precious Saturday morning trio walk is gone.

Harsh.

I’m breaking the monotony of my new life by getting various things contact-less delivered: garage doors, desks, desk chairs, a new bed for the youngest.

And there’s no longer any need to get riled about IKEA saying it will deliver my stuff some time between 8am and 8pm on a Tuesday … because I am always home, aside from when I’m picking up endless dog poop while taking the fur babies for a walk.

Oh and as if being official shite collector wasn’t unpleasant enough, Bilbo tried to attack a labrador yesterday. He is convinced that every dog larger than a small spaniel is out to get him, so his defense tactic is to go rabid first. Not the smartest idea when it’s a German Shepard he’s up against.

But I failed to see the danger in a labrador. Bilbo disagreed and went the labrador loudly and repeatedly. I had my hands full with two leads, a jangling poo bag and a strong flat white, so I hissed at him to SHUT UP. But he would not SHUT UP. So I gave him a little nudge in the ribs with my foot and he screamed like he’d been violently physically abused and I am now THAT woman who kicks poor defenseless dogs and should be reported to the RSPCA.

Sigh.

How was your weekend?

PS The featured image is from a movie called “Snakes on a Plane”. It’s infamous because the film’s title originated at an after-work happy hour among Hollywood colleagues to see who could come up with the most outlandishly awful pitch for a movie.

Song of the day: Janet & Michael Jackson “Scream” (are Michael Jackson songs frowned upon these days? Is it mitigated if it’s a duet?)

 

 

 

 

 

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