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rage shitting

 I went out for 40 minutes last night to do some errands before this morning - I had to drop crap off at Value Village, get gas, and get cash for the cleaner today.  When I left my house, the dogs were all sleeping - when I returned, the puppy was dragging around my most recent crochet project, had yarn beneath Bob's wheelchair wheels, and had taken a huge rage shit (Bob's words, not mine) in Bob's room.

I often wonder why I bother.

Apparently, it was a big enough insult that hu-mum was not on site, let alone the spare human trying to tell her what to do.  He threw a water bottle at her to distract her from my crochet work, and then tried to get her outside.  She turned left (into his room) instead of right (through my office outside) and pooped on his floor.  It was actually probably more work for her to poop there than outside, so a little part of me is like "yes, girl.. you show him".  The other part of me, the part that had to clean it up, is profoundly annoyed.

40 minutes.  In the time I drove through drive thru banking, got gas, and ran into Value Village and then back home again.  40 minutes - less than an episode of Grey's Anatomy.  WHY do I even bother, somedays?

It's now 7:05 a.m.  In two hours I'll be on the road to taking Jolene back to school - two hours to shower, to dress, to tidy for the cleaner, to clean out my car, and get to my friend's house to pick up her and her two dogs.

Easy.

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