Dear 2012: Go fuck yourself. Seriously. You have not been good for anyone.
For all of you out there having a bad time, you have all of my love. Don’t ask me how each of you can have all of my love. It’s possible and you have it, so shaddup.
Related: I hate everything.
Like that photo. It looks like a closeup of Jack, but if you click to embiggen the photo, you will be able to see the tear stain on his cheek that I noticed after he came home. Welcome to Jack and school these days. Did I mention that I hate everything?
I have to stop.
So. The feral cat we accidentally trapped in our car.
Lately I’ve caught myself talking to people and then drifting off only to come back to the knowledge that I have been gazing past whoever has been speaking to me. The “evening routine” version of this is getting out of my minivan at night and leaving the sliding side door open in the rain. I did that last night.
When Alex got home from work, he noticed that the door was open, so he used his set of keys to close the door.
Then he noticed the animal inside.
Thinking Team Stimey might need a laugh, he came into the house to, you know, get the whole family to go outside and see if it was a feral cat or an opossum that was now feasting on the goldfish crackers in the cracks of our car seats. (It turned out to be a gigantic, kinda terrified looking gray tabby cat.)
The children thought the cat in the car was the most hilarious thing that had ever happened in their lives.
Somehow we ended up surrounding the car and the cat FREAKED OUT. It started ping ponging around the car—trunk area, back seat, dashboard, back to the trunk. We finally had to open three doors and give it a wide berth before it was brave enough to run for the bushes.
On the upside, now our car smells like panicked feral cat pee.
Did I already tell 2012 to fuck off? Because I seriously mean it.