I'll blame the profanity on the PMS, but some of you know better

I don’t know if it’s PMS or just my evil nature, but I am a bitch today. It was my second day of working from home and I’m about at my limits. My daycare provider’s mother died and she’s closed until Friday (the slight inconvenience is a trade-off that I gladly deal with to be sending my kids to a place where they are treated like family and loved as much as if they were with grandma). Luckily, I work for a company that gives me the option to work form home in such emergencies.

Working from home sounds like fun. And in a way, it is. I can sleep in (sadly, sleeping in these days means 6:00), I don’t have to get dressed, I don’t have to deal with the office asshole (aka The Cock, for those of you who have been around for a while). But in reality, it’s not so much fun. I always say I’m not cut out to be a stay-at-home mom, and to be totally honest, that’s probably true. But most of that opinion is base on my experiences of the occasional days when i work from home. Which isn’t really fair to me. I mean, I’ll admit – sometimes being home with a three year old can be about as pleasant as having explosive diarrhea. But being at home with a three-year old while you need to get 15 annual reports produced, get one manuscript submitted, find a complicated database that does not exist, regardless of how badly TPTB want it to, update all the information on professional meetings for the entire year, create a document tracking all changes in tax, legislation, prevalence and quitting data of smokers in the U.S. is like explosive diarrhea plus projectile vomiting. Which does not put one in a particularly good mood.

I called the dog asshole at least eleventy-five times today, along with dickhead, dicklick, cocksucker, fuckwad, and jackhole. I called two drivers idiot and asswipe, I called the school bus driver an anus-licking prick (I’ll give myself a pass on this one – he really is). I sat through gymnastics and karate thinking (but not saying out loud – I do have some self-control) about how everyone there was either: a bitch, an asshole, a fuckwad, unqualified for life, or the dumbest shit that ever shitted. I told a bag-boy at the grocery store, after he told me that the line was closed (even though the fucking light was on and after I unloaded half of my overflowing and hard to push race car shopping cart (another great in theory, bad in practice product - whoever invented them is an asshole), “I’m going to have to kill you now.”

And then I came home (and cleaned up the garbage that the asshole dickhead dicklick, cocksucker fuckwad jackhole dog tore up), hated everyone for a while longer, then cracked open a bottle of champagne left over from New Years. After drinking ¾ of it, I have decided it must be PMS because my asshole-meter is still going off. I think I have some viognier left and I’m all over that bitch. After all, I get to "sleep in" tomorrow, so what the fuck.