That's the refrain around here these days. And, oh, have I got evidence*, but really, that's not what this is about. It's about just getting over the fact that people are crazy, or stupid, or annoying and just dealing with it. Move along, folks, and get your shit done. Stopping and chatting about the failings of others is just a waste of my damned time.
And, lord knows, I have no damned time.
And, yet, here I am, sitting here typing to you when I could be at the gym or at home, or at least in the car on the way home, if not actually, realistically home. See, that's how my days go: I get up late, shower quickly, wake the kid, feed the kid, dress the kid, dress myself, drive to school, drop the kid, chat with some mommieghs, drive to work, manage the mutha-fuckin' shit out of some projects, hit the treadmill for 30 minutes, drive home, play with kid, make kid's lunch, read to kid, fall asleep next to kid, (fail to eat dinner), shower, and go to bed.
And you wonder why I have been out of touch. Yeah. That.
But, you say, before you had time to look at pretty things on the internets and tell us repeatedly of your hatred of poorly hung curtains.
But there is a difference between physical busy-ness - oh, and that I certainly have got, see above daily timeline - and mental busy-ness. The latter one is the one that kicks your ass. When you don't get to surf the internets for pretty things, or sing songs in the car on the way home, or daydream on the treadmill - when all those times are filled up with making lists, checking things off lists and mentally reviewing the list of lists? Well, that's when you just gotta stop caring about the little shit. The lady next door stole your dry cleaning? Whatever. The asshat in account service wants to blow up the world because 241 of the 12,000 deliverables are 2 days late for an advertising campaign (read: sarcasm, we are not saving lives here). Again, whatever.
People are dying here. Uncles, fathers-in-law, parents of friends. Suffering abounds. Hours go to sad phone calls and confusing texts. Hours go to Googling medical terms. Hours go to the damned lists.
People are crazy. Yep. Sure. Whatever.
*Oh, and I will share the neighbor dry cleaning story. Another time.