PMT

Ah, it's that time again, the PMT monster has arrived and once again people are avoiding me.

My brother just texted to say that my parents are now back in the country and are having a tourist day. I run round sorting out my dad's football tickets and getting them to my brother, I'm picking up their dog on Sunday and I had my hospital appointment yesterday but still neither of them has bothered to so much as text to say they are back in the country. The only reason I know they didn't drown in the sea off Egypt is that on Tuesday I got a text from my mum asking if I'd phone my cousin Nicola. So I've just sent them a snotty text to say thanks a lot for keeping me informed and next time I want to know where in the world they I'll just ask my brother. I strongly suspect that I'm going to pay for that at some point and am fully expecting my mother to ring me and shout at me for my sarcasm.

 

This week has been simply brimming over with help and cooperation from the site management here. And again the sarcasm rears its head. Requests for information have been ignored, stupid requirements have been sent in and the word 'please' seems to have been lost from the English language. I am now giving serious thought to fucking it all off and going home for the afternoon to do something less frustrating and annoying like trying to work out how to acheive world peace or cheesegrating my forehead.

 

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One Response

  1. These days PMT (or PMS or whatever its called) leaves me more weepy than a bucket of cold water. But weepy or mad, the wonderful thing about it is that it's now recognised as a legal defence for murder 🙂 the days I've thought about what good use I could put that to… :))*hugs*

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