So, this brings me to my rant. Translation: bitching session.
Why can't people leave me alone?
My phone rings like it should be in a doctor's office. Our driveway is often transformed into Ohio's pull-in OR turn-around zone. Between my one son who thinks I live only to serve him and landlords and hired hands who come and go as they please, not to mention all the traffic due to the new addition to the coalmine, I'm to the point of lying down in the lane to protest the interruptions like a treehugger straps himself to a tree destined for the ax.
Back to the phone. It rings at midnight. It rings at 1 AM. It rings at 7:30 in the morning--and whether it's a weekday or weekend matters naught.
The power company uses our driveway to access coal mine property, which sets the dog to barking her head off. And now there's a water-testing guy who bangs on our door when I least expect it to ask for water samples.
For. God's. Sake!!! Leave. Me. Alone!
I understand why people lose their tempers and do stupid things.
And if you add the latest stupid stunts--note, that it's plural!--my oldest son has done of late...allow me a moment of snarling. I'm so furious and upset I could go ten rounds or more with Godzilla and not knock him out just so I could beat on him a li'l longer. I swear, in the mood I'm in of late, Bigfoot would take one look at me and scream "Yipe! Yipe! Yipe!" as it ran back into the woods.
However, the traffic through our drive aside, why is it family cannot leave a mom alone? My hubby calls me "The Matriarch" and says I can "fix" anything.
I don't care! Leave me alone! I need a life--a life that's mine and not one caters to what everyone else wants. Don't call me and ask me to Google something for you when you have Internet access on your high-tech cell phone! Don't call me and ask if you should give the baby a dose of medicine when it has directions on the bottle! Don't wait until four hours before your friends are going to the movies to ask if you can go when you've known about it for two freaking weeks!
And never ever tell me I've overused a word in a manuscript when I can do a search and highlight and see the word was used only three times in an entire full-length book!
Oh yeah. PMS? Pa-shaw! That's nothing. Get on a mountain woman's last nerve and face the wrath of Hades and Mount Vesuvius combined!
By tonight I'll need a date with Jack. If any harried moms out there plan to join me, bring limes or get tossed into the volcano.
Oh, and a cheese and meat platter would be nice. I'm sick of cooking.