I'm having a hard time finding my sense of humor today. Actually, I'm having a hard time finding my sense of life-is-worth-getting-out-of-bed today. The KH described the events of the day as "ironic" and said it was a good day in that he wasn't hit by a meteorite. I think we passed ironic a ways back, and frankly, that meteorite is looking more and more appealing.
While I was at my unpaid--but you get to pay for gas and parking and all your other expenses--job, my husband was, with great relief, sending out a large bill to a client after a solid week (and weekend) of work, payment of which...well, let's just say it would be a nice idea, what with property taxes and income taxes being due this month, in addition to all the other bills, and the kids still wanting to eat and all.
And then Sam started bleeding from his mouth and the rest of the day pretty much went to hell.
The KH examined Sam's mouth and found...something bloody. So he took Sam to the vet. While sitting in the examining room, he got an email from the client--the one who now owes us a substantial amount of money. The sense of the email was, "I hate you and I'm not paying." And then the vet came in and told him Sam has a tumor. Numerous tumors, actually, but the big bloody thing in his mouth was the one that needed emergency surgery.
As in, you're not getting out of here without forking over the mortgage payment surgery. Sell your firstborn and all his toys surgery. Cough up a kidney, because that's the only way you're going to pay for this surgery.
'Cause this is a freakin' GREAT week for that.
I'm trying to be philosophical here. I really am. But the past couple of years have been a long, hard haul, and there is no end in sight. I try every day to be cheerful and optimistic and say things like, "It's going to be okay; we just have to keep going. Eventually it'll get better. It's just a matter of time." Most of the time, I even believe it. But today I'm wondering if I ought to just give it up and change my name to Job. My cheerful has gone missing and hasn't left a forwarding address. Stick a fork in me, because I'm done. Th-th-th-th-th-that's all, folks.
But I don't have time for a nervous breakdown. The kitchen needs cleaning, the laundry needs doing, the house needs vacuuming, the sick dog needs meds, the kids need help with their homework...
...and, damn, I need a drink.