I’m in a wickedly foul mood today.  I don’t really have the time to be in this bad of a mood, but I am, and there’s very little I can do about it other than stew in my own bile for a while.  At least until something else captures my attention away from feeling sorry for myself and angry at myself and angry at everyone else.

I’m angry because The Girl has spiraled down to the point where she is being evaluated by a team this weekend to determine the appropriate level of care for her current mental health state.

Yep, The Girl.  I’m 2 for 3 in kids so messed up in the head they need hospitalization.

And I’d like to bitch-slap the crap out of God or Vishnu or Jehovah or whatever deity is the one people are referring to when they pat me on the back and say that their deity of choice never gives us more than we can handle.

Let me tell you right now, God.  UNCLE.    I’m way the hell over my quota for this lifetime AND the next, so just back the fuck off. I can’t handle any more.  You’ve got the wrong girl.  At least one of the reasons I stopped believing you gave a rat’s ass about anything that happens to anyone down here is that the people in my neighborhood supposedly working in your name were very vocal about not wanting to be around my imperfect children.   I told them they could go fuck themselves and – guess what – if you actually exist, you can go fuck yourself too.  One average broad can not take all this.  Hell – one exceptional broad couldn’t take this load of crap.