Pink eye can't believe this crap.

First it was Hand, Foot & Mouth disease... Oh, I didn't tell you that? Yeah. That was fun times. Now little d has pink eye. What's next? Seriously. Between the reflux, asthma, surgery, ear infections, colds, fevers, HFM and now pinkeye, this kid has been to the pediatrician, hospital, after hours clinic and specialists more times than I can count. No lie. I literally have lost count. I have no sick time left and only two vacation days.

I know the first year is the toughest in terms of illnesses. Especially if they're in daycare, but whoa mamma. I can barely keep up. Speaking of daycare, it seems like he's barely even been there the last few months, which is maddening because it's like flushing money down the toilet. A lot of money.

Anyway. Dude's got the pinkeye.

GD fucking son of a bitch.

I got so pissed off in a meeting just now, I literally can't see straight. My left temple is pulsing, so my blood pressure must be through roof. We got horrible direction from the account team, tried to make something out of nothing and then basically got told by a creative director we suck. I was *this close* to reaching over the table and smacking the account person right in the face. Maybe then she would have opened her mouth and taken some of the responsibility. Dumb bitch.

Shit in, shit out, people. That's how it works. You can't spare the five minutes to come up with good direction, I'm not spending the time required to give you good creative.

OMG. I have to stop talking about this or I am going to freaking blow.

With love.

The following is an open letter to all fathers in general, but to those in particular who find it necessary to turn their children into a smaller version of themselves:

Dear Sir(s),
Please just stop. On behalf of all mothers, I’m telling you we will stop at nothing to make sure our children get to grow up without bias influences. So please, unless you have a real excuse, not a lame one, for why they should wear slip-on shoes and socks with shorts instead of sandals, don’t waste your breath. Because “they look gay” just doesn’t cut it. I hate to tell you, but even gay men wouldn’t wear socks and shoes with shorts. Just because you think both those articles of clothing should not exist, does not mean they are off limits to your children.

Just admit it’s not your child’s best interest you have in mind, but yours. That you are desperately grabbing at straws because you’re concerned people will think you’re “gay” because your son is wearing *gasp* shorts and sandals. Let’s be frank--it’s not that you take such extreme joy in picking out your child’s clothes, which, you could have given two shits about up until now, but rather, that you’re extremely concerned of how you yourself will be perceived if he shows up to the company BBQ looking “gay.” It’s childish, it’s pathetic and calling your better halves names because you’re mad they won’t let you have your way is not going to get you anywhere.

Hug and kisses,
Management

P.S. You’re welcome for the black lo-top All Stars. I think they are hideous. But I got them for you because it's not about what I think, but because you like them. I guess if I wasn't such a control freak I would see that, right? I bought them for you to cheer you up, but now all I want to do is take them back.

Sick again.

This is going to be a stream of consciousness sort of thing because I don't have a lot of time...

I feel awful. Depressed. Frustrated. Little d is sick again. That's three or four days (I've lost count) so far this month that we've kept him out of daycare. Well over three hundred dollars down the drain. It seems like he's out more than he is in. It also seems like he's sick more than he is healthy. Is it daycare or is it a weak immune system? Makes me feel like I should have powered through the pain, guilt and depression and just kept breast feeding.

"Can't you work from home?" was the question I got from my MIL this morning, which makes me feel even more guilty when she drops everything to come over and watch little d while we're at work. I don't have an answer. And if I did, I doubt she'd understand that it just doesn't work that way in this business. Technically, I could work from home, but what about all the meetings I need to go to in order to get the direction I need to work from home? If I don't go to those meetings, I don't know what to write. I suppose I could be conferenced in, but don't you think people would grow tired of hearling a sick crying baby in the background real quick? What am I supposed to do with little d while I'm on an hour long conference call? So, no, I really can't work from home. So I'm stuck relying on her and it irritates me. Because I can do without the passive aggressive comments.

I'm tired. I'm tired. Time ired. And I'm almost out of time. Clock starts in seven minutes. And I haven't even begun to touch on what I'm want to say or what I'm feeling right now. We're talking about moving the deadline up tonight. Going through the finances. To see if I can quit a couple of months early. I know it's what needs to be done. Except I don't know if I'm ready. I haven't planned enough.

Three minutes.

I'm getting a migraine. I don't want to be here right now. Maybe I should quit and write a book. Right. That's a laugh. What makes me think I'd get published? I have nothing unique to say. I'm just always complaining. A whole book full of complaints? Boring. Stupid. Probably already been done.

Times up.

Two down, one to go.

So. The opthamologist said that, other than some inflammation under my lids (most likely from being a contact wearer), my eyes are as healthy as can be. And that, basically, they are not the cause of my migraines. No tumors, no detached retinas, no weak optic nerves. Just regular old healthy eyeballs. So the next step is to pay a visit to the ENT doctor to check out my sinuses. Which, I can tell you right now, is the root of my problem. If not the root, a large contributor for sure.

If I had to guess, I’d say that I have sleep apnea as well. I can’t breathe awake, so I’m assuming I can’t breathe at night either. It takes a couple of hours after I wake up to be able to breathe out of the right side of my nose. Even then, it’s difficult to take in air from either of my nostrils. I’ve lived with it so long that I don’t even notice anymore. My body notices, though, and the migraines are its way of saying, “Yo, bitch, take care of me.”

How fucking rude.

Hang on to your hats, people, because I'm pretty fucking pissed right now. About a few things, actually, but we'll start with this:

"...and the Client said the daycare newsletter and realtor copy was brilliant and was wondering where it came from."

Ummm. Me? Where in the fuck else did the client think the copy came from? I'm a writer. I WRITE. You ask me to write you a newsletter and by God, I'll write you a newsletter. So yes, you asked and I wrote you a newsletter. From scratch. Nothing to go on. Then you turn around and act surprised that the shit is "brilliant." I'm so offended right now. I may not write for a national account, BUT I COULD. I'm not a total hack, you assholes.

Then there is the matter of my husband acting like a fucking prima donna. Somebody shoot me, please. If he complains about one more appointment I've scheduled, it's going to be lights out real fast. Any of you watch Flipping Out on Bravo? If you do, you know who he's acting like. We had a scrap on the phone earlier and he later apologized, but man, it's getting harder and harder to not blow the fuck up at him. The stress of running a business on the side, of which is non-existent without his talent, is of great proportions right now. I feel like it's another reason why I need to quit working--so I can focus on making sure both my babies asses are wiped.

It's just an all around bad day. The whole week's been a bitch, actually. At this point, I don't even think the three-day holiday weekend is going to make up for it.