446 days…

I realised yesterday that while I outwardly feel strong and capable, the inside of me is still so very angry…

You see, twice in the past two days complete and utter selfish aresholes have made me feel like serving up a dose of “so you  think YOUR life is bad??? Well have a go at mine”.

The first time was in the staff room at work …. apparently my  conversation with someone on the supportive school committee about our need  for a school chaplain* was not as important as their need or a new staff room microwave and their need to tell said person Right Now by yelling their demand from the other side of the room and so I was talked over the top of, then “shushed” by  arsehole#1 because they needed “to talk about something  more important”.

(I’d only just said that the police chaplain was so supportive to us the day you died and so having one on the school staff would be a great move for the supportive school committee).

I could have slapped the bitch.

But I didn’t.

I seethed.  and then I just went to a higher power (deputy principal) who agreed with me and had set the wheels in motion wrt getting us a chaplain.

Then yesterday, I went to buy chook feed from the local produce store and the pleasant red-headed man wasn’t there, but Mr Cranky- Pants Arsehole was.

As you know, a bag of  chook feed  weighs 20 kg so the usual practice is to find a bloke that works there, tell him which feed I want.  Proceed to register, pay for feed (which incidentally has no prices on or near it on the shop floor)  and then he carries it to the car.

Not yesterday…. areshole #2 looked up from the register, sighed and said “can I help you” whereon I said that I’d like some chook feed.  Then he gave me a look, shrugged his shoulders and said “well … how much do you want, which one, what’s the price” as if I should  be able to guess a) what he had in stock and b) his non-displayed pricelist. He gave the impression that he was annoyed that I didn’t have a bag of chook feed on my shoulder so he could just take my money and sit back down again.

I was so put-out by his attitude that I meekly accepted whatever chook feed he deigned to sell me, and when I asked if he could carry it to the car he said “I guess you don’t shop many places where people carry things to the car for you”.

“Well no areshole … most places with 20 kg bags of feed have trolleys and an actual floor that isn’t made out of cow dung so I’m able to manoeuvre it to the car by myself.”

Except I didn’t say that.

I smiled and nodded because I have to be polite at all costs.

I let him *throw* the feed in the boot and drove off ….. with the wrong feed.

Later, I wanted to go back and rail at him that no matter how shitty his day was, I could top it; my life is worse.

I wanted to tell him to suck it up and put on his big-boy pants and to grow up a bit —>  Nobody you love is dead (I know this because I know his sisters and the rest of his family very well – they are much nicer!).

I wanted to tell him that he was being a total arsehole.

But I didn’t.

I just won’t ever give him any more of my money.

But I’ll take the kids into his dingy, dusty, smelly shed and let them annoy the living crap out of him and his pet bird for half an hour and leave without buying anything.

’cause technically, that’s not being impolite.  Passive Aggressive maybe…. but he’s too self-absorbed to notice that anyway.

….so back to the main point …

I am angry on the inside.

Inside the inside.

The bit that only gets rattled by sudden strong emotion.

I am seething with rage that arseholes  surround me and  yet you are not here.

I’m angry that both these idiots  get to suck oxygen from the air and live and breathe and love and laugh and you don’t.

I’m angry that God took the wrong man.

I miss you.

I love you.


*We need a school chaplain, given that *2* families lost a parent last week, bringing the number of sole-parent / widowed households to 12 within the school.  I realise that there’s a body of people who don’t want school chaplains who read my blog, but I would suggest that I might just know a lot about which I speak when I say that I would rather have a school chaplain over another  school counsellor.  I’ve worked with both as both teacher and parent of kids who *need* a chaplain at school far more than they need the counsellors who’ve ummed and arrred and basically made life more difficult.  I’ll stick with the  psychologist we see privately AND chaplain as my preferred option.

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