I’ll pray for you…that your brakes go out

Hello, darkness, my old friend…. I’m in the laundry room again…. One of these days, I will fully teach my offspring the process of cleaning clothes from start to finish.  Today is not that day.  Today, I want Mount Washmore to stop haunting my dreams, so I am doing it my damn self.  This is following a fairly ugh day filled with really LOUD alarms that I am too stupid to know how to turn off, one tiny little hassle after another and a high blood pressure head ache to beat the band.  These visit me after I give a psycho-mom impression to one of my teenagers in order to get them to attend school.  One of the tricky things about being a single parent – really flying solo, 100% only you are making the executive decisions, is that you take all the blame.  No one ever says… hey, didn’t they have another biologically imperative parent?  That lives a block away and is the biggest waste of oxygen to ever walk the earth??

I have news friends…If Child Protective Services opens a case against a family, it is in Momma’s name, even if she is dead, because the gestation process makes us matter more.  Hang your hat on that, girls, because even if you are fucking dead, it is still your fault.  It doesn’t matter if your seventy hour, kinda manageable workload just increased to ninety hours on account of somebody decided they are too delicate of a tulip to hold a job.  At the end of the day, mother is the name of God on the lips of little children.  Here’s my final word on dead beat dads…twenty years ago, one of mine beat me until I had a compression fracture in my spine. Some days, every step is an agony, and I wish for a morphine drip.  I get my ass up every day and go to work anyway because I had kids who need things like food, shelter and stupidly expensive sneakers.  What I don’t do is expect the universe to provide. But I’ll pray for you.

Tonight I say, save your sanctimonious fuckery for someone who still has fucks to give and that is not Miss Shannon, who does not give one fuck, two fucks, red fucks, blue fucks what you think.  I know that I am doing what’s possible for me, right now today.  I know that I love the squeaky wheel beyond all reasoning and he knows it, too.  I don’t give two shits if he digs ditches for a living, I care that he is happy.  If you think your job is your life, you don’t understand life, and I can’t help you.  But I’ll pray for you, too, cupcake.  I hope your momma is, too, because you are in very dire straits if I’m the one praying for you. Please know, I did all my best parenting before I had kids, too.  Back burner your judgment, because really, if you fuck up your kids, what the hell else is there?