Feeling Weird

I am in such a bad mood; I shouldn't even be writing in public, though writing is what I need to do when I feel this rotten. I've already played several pieces on the piano, and I think my family is about ready for me to be done. I'd go for a walk but there's a thunderstorm out there. Bleah.

We were supposed to go to counseling tonight, but... well, things fell through as they are wont to do when we have no sitter. That's OK; we were scheduled to evaluate our options at tonight's session, which promised to be ugly, ugly, ugly.

TM's been passed out for most of the day/evening. The doc gave him a muscle relaxant and apparently he got a little too relaxed. Looks like I'm going to be the only functioning adult in this house for a while. (...Comment deleted...)

Cool news from my cousin, though. (No, not that cousin-- my other cousin.) Ryan's got a new movie coming out this summer (made by some guys I went to school with). Maybe he'll get his own IMDb page now, too. Sweet!

I Will Not...

...allow the phrase "brains God gave a flea" to escape my lips. No matter how tempted...

Bloody Hell

OK, it's not quite that bad, but you remember that root canal? Oh yeah. Went in Monday, spent 90 minutes in the chair, got what seemed like 90 shots to keep me numb ('cause I react badly to novocaine, as some of you may recall), and had a gallon of liquid sodium spilled in my mouth (ACK!), only to have the doc say, "I can't finish this in one session; you'll have to come back." Right.

So I left, my aching tooth stuffed with cotton and my twisted mouth unable to even sip through a straw. I scheduled the rest of my procedure for Wednesday and put off the appointment for getting a crown until later. Much later.

Wednesday, I only spent an hour in the chair, still got a lot of shots, but at least didn't end up gagging on sodium. The doc jabbed and poked and drilled and finally said, "I can't do this one; I'm sending you to a specialist." Argh.

Once again, numb face, twisted mouth, aching tooth full of cotton-- and no resolution.

Come to think of it, that sounds a lot like our marriage counseling sessions.

Dashing Through...

... the snow, yes, and a lot of other muck. So much going on lately. So much I want to write about. No time. Cold cold cold. Sick kids, sick husband, sick self. Over and over. Lots of work to do, no money to pay any bills at all. Creditors calling. Maybe help will come in time. Borrowing medicine from the neighbors. Finding out that I'm not crazy after all. Having writers yell at me and bosses praise me. Realizing that I'm actually better off than some people. Feeling guilty about being so miserable. Whatever whatever. Goodnight. More later.

I Can't Believe It

I just cannot believe it. Actually, this could have begun the post I was tempted to write last night, which would have been a long whiny rant about how if I hadn't been so darned responsible as to double-check at the last minute, I wouldn't have even known that I was supposed to report for jury duty this morning. And how I'd forgotten when I postponed it originally (it was supposed to be during my family reunion last week) that today was my deadline as well as smack-dab in the middle of Migraine Week. And how I was going to lose out on about $100, which my family could ill afford at this time. And don't get me started about "What am I supposed to do with my kids all day?" That was a good whine.

But guess what? I went to jury duty, the kids went to work with dad, they had a great time, I got dismissed right away, we got home for lunch and a nap, I finished my articles in plenty of time (for the first time ever) and have actually been working on other people's! Punkin Boy fell asleep early, so bedtime was very quiet, and Pirate Boy promises to sleep till noon tomorrow. (Don't you believe it; but it's very nice of him.)

Whew! I am not staying up past midnight tonight. Must get rid of the puffy eyes from crying my self-pitying loser self to sleep last night. And I'll probably have no work at all to do tomorrow. Can you believe how sweet life is?

Fed Up

I've had just about enough of everything tonight, especially work. But I haven't killed anyone yet. Good on me.

By the bye, did you know that cocoa-oatmeal Raisinette cookies, when frozen and then warmed in the microwave, smell just like toasted marshmallows? I wonder why...

Nose to the Grindstone, Sorta

Lucky me, deadline falls right smack in the middle of Migraine Week. I did edited 40 articles one deadline day last month, though, so I'm sure I can do it again. Yeah, I'm sure I can. I don't even have to bake a cake this time.

What I'm working on recently: "How to Deal with Premenstrual Irritability" (also "How to Breed Peafowl" and "How to Grow a Beard"-- all from one author!); I learn so much with this job.

The little guys have been very very good today, which I totally need. #1 Son has been weird and mopey. (Teen years approaching, did I say?) A little more initiative and independence would serve him well.

The Man IM's me to say he's thinking of coming home early because of the heat, again. Can someone please tell me why anybody would stick their IT department in a building with no air conditioning? TM works on the second floor, and it's hovering around 100 degrees, again. Yack. Well, that'll be some help with the kids, maybe.

Me, at Midnight, Again

I named my blog ages ago when I was working more than full-time trying to support my family, and the only time I had to myself when I could write was after I lost lucidity, sometime in the wee hours of the night. I felt kind of silly after I lost my job and could blog just about anytime I wanted to. I could just hear people wondering "What's up with the 'midnight' thing? She only posts at lunchtime..."

Well, I'm back to the witching hour, when I have any time at all, that is. And it is because I'm working again, though for only a fraction of the pay and no benefits at all. Mostly, I don't mind. At least I'm working again and can feel like I'm contributing something to our family's upkeep. (Yes, it was bothering me.) But I'm tired and cranky and I occasionally wonder whether it'll kill me, and whether anyone would miss me if I did.

And then I have these moments of rapturous appreciation from my kids, especially Pirate Boy, who (by virtue of having finally cleaned his room) now has his own email and blog! He thinks he is the coolest thing in the world, and that I'm the coolest mama for having made it possible. Those snuggly hugs are totally worth staying alive for.

P.S. Let me know if you want to visit or write to the little guy, and I'll email you the details. He loves getting mail!

I Could So Home School

Yesterday The Man (TM) worked late again, and I felt exhausted. I had just started to chide myself for being such a wimp, when something inside me rebelled and started listing all the things I'd done since I woke up that morning. These are the ones I can remember:

• Made breakfast, lunch, and dinner for me and the kids
• Did laundry and dishes
• Edited half a dozen articles
• Did a ton of research on the Internet
• Wrote one article
• Emailed each of my authors at least once
• Wiped a stinky butt more times than I care to count
• Graded an essay
• Broke up a couple dozen fights
• Supervised art and writing lessons
• Downloaded several photos to my hard drive
• Recovered from 3 fatal computer errors
• Read a dozen books with children
• Got #1 Son to mow the lawn
• Arranged for our food to be delivered

And did all of this with cramps and a migraine, on 5 hours' sleep. All right, I'm not trash-talking to myself anymore. In fact, I'm thinking I could be a teacher with credentials like that.

Well, At Least We're Not Broke...

Forgive me while I giggle like a drunk with nothing left to lose. I'm about tapped out on patience and endurance at the moment. This weekend I cried so much that my eyelids looked like Easter eggs and felt like they were being boiled from the inside out. And that was just the first day. The second day I got worse. Then things got bad. Hee. (hic)

Can it be Migraine Week again already? I think so. The Man (TM) has a huge project due at school in less than 24 hours, so he didn't come home last night until after 11, and it's going to happen again tonight. The kids were pretty good; I shouldn't complain. I just get tired. Tomorrow night we've got stuff going on, and Thursday night we have conflicting stuff and Friday #1 Son goes off to Hell again-- no family time this week. You might think that was the least of my worries.

On the bright side, poopy underwear doesn't seem all that bad set against that background. And my husband still loves me after all.

Oy Vey

If anyone's still out there, you've certainly noticed that my posts have slowed down quite a bit. That usually happens during migraine week, which was worse than usual this month, plus I had a cold. But a lot of it is just me being totally and utterly exhausted.

The pain is still there, still exhausting, but that's not why I keep finding myself face-down, half-conscious, with nightmarish visions flitting through my head of myself committing outrageous crimes. Not entirely, I think.

See, I'm caught in this bizarre situation in which a crazy person (also known as the forces of hell) keeps attacking me and my family and now our religious beliefs. Which is not that unusual, you might think, but it's quite a dilemma trying to figure out how to deal appropriately with someone who insists, beyond all reason or evidence, that you, your family, and your whole church are not in fact Christian, as you claim to be.

I mean, what's the Christian response to that? I'll tell you what my instinctive response is, though I've never used it: "Don't be stupid." Seriously, who would know better whether I worship and revere Jesus Christ as the savior of the world and more particularly of me, too? Who knows more about my church, someone who's once heard a lecture by someone who opposes my church, or me, a 6th-generation member of it? Where can you find the best evidence? This answer sounds scornful, and I feel that way. I wonder how anyone can be so insane.

But that's not what I say. I wish I didn't have to say anything; I wouldn't if it was just some jerk talking to me. I'd try to politely correct the misconception, but I'd just have to let it drop, because people who say these things don't want to be corrected. And this is what The Man did the other night when he was talking to Satan Herself about the possibility of #1 Son being baptized. Despite her ravings, he was very controlled and polite as he tried to present evidence that our church does in fact believe in Jesus as the son of God and Savior of the world. We know she won't take my word for it that it's raining when she can feel the drops, but she might have accepted something he said. But no. Her response was that her information was true, but it wasn't known to anyone so "low down" in the church. Only those "high up" were in on the secret.

Here, the rude part of me wanted to roll its eyes and say "Oh. What. Ever." But that would be taken as agreement. Anyway, it's like that. She insists that #1 Son will go straight to hell if he should ever take such a drastic step as to be baptized, and she tells him so in no uncertain terms. (I won't even bother describing the desire to roll eyes and be sarcastic here. It will have occurred to you already.) And after 4 years of this, it's no wonder the boy won't admit to even the desire anymore. (See also TM's blog entry.) It's depressing. But my husband is so full of faith, he's not giving up, so I am trying to hang on to the hope, too.

But I'm so tired...

Need a Break

Locked in battle with the forces of evil. Still. Expecting a court summons any day. Our pediatrician has recommended medication that might help #1 Son concentrate better and do better in school. The Evil One of course is having fits about it. The Man (TM) must be lying; the doctor must be insane; we're just doing this to cause trouble for her (I don't know how); she is opposed to all medication for the boy; an acquaintance of hers says of course #1 Son doesn't have ADD or ADHD and so doesn't need medication; we need to let him come live with her because we can't take care of him, etc., etc., ditto ditto... She says we just need to change his diet to a low-carb/high protein thing. (Oh, like the one we had him on last year in hopes of fixing this very problem-- the one you insisted he didn't need to be on as soon as he went to your house for his summer break? That diet? Sure, yeah. As soon as it's your idea, you like it.)

Have no money still, but may have fixed the problem with the overdraft. Well, as soon as the check arrives on the east coast. Will need enough money to pay for our car in less than a week, but unless the IRS is really fast, that's not happening. The VA is 2 months behind on its G.I. Bill payments, and who cares? Well, besides us. They don't seem to. It would surely help if they got caught up.

Well, our house is still mostly clean, anyway, despite the best efforts of our two youngest kids. (Did you really, truly have to use the bathroom trash can as a toilet? Did you? No, I thought not.) And we've embarked upon spring break, so maybe there'll be some rest for the weary along the way. I'll keep you posted.

Drama King

I don't even remember how I was going to tell you about what's been going on with us, but it seemed pretty important that I should about 2 hours ago. At that time, I was still feeling pretty hurt and angry about what #1 Son had done a little earlier in the evening. Let me see if I can get my head sorted out.

Well first, he got his, what is it-- sixth discipline referral at school yesterday. This time, at least, it wasn't for blowing off his homework (though he's still about a month behind). It was for using an emergency exit to get to the playground faster than usual. He swears he didn't know (or notice) that it wasn't a regular door, though he'd noticed that nobody else ever went through it. I suppose he thinks he's a real adventurer or something, doing what nobody else does. Much as I appreciate that sentiment, I wish he'd march to his "different drummer" some other time or place.

The overdue homework/classwork is still piling up, and he still doesn't seem to care, though he could do it if he wanted to. This is the part that about half a dozen people are ready to smack him for. I suppose it's just his way of getting attention, but my gosh. Failing 6th grade for that? Running the risk of expulsion, for crying out loud? Can't you get attention in a better way? Doing good or, say, favorably impressive things, for instance? We'd be so happy if he'd, well, do his homework first and then, oh, get involved in music or drama or something. Something.

Instead, he tries to get out of being yelled at by his mother by telling her that I wouldn't let him do his homework on the weekend. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that even she didn't believe this kind of lie. She talked to The Man (TM) for a while, then had him put the call on speaker phone so she could talk to all of us at once. #1 Son repeated his story that I had prevented him from doing his homework. That, I have to say, took a lot of gall. The fact was that I'd tried to get him to do his homework on Saturday so he wouldn't have to do it on Sunday.

Maybe he was confused. Maybe. But probably he was mad that I'd taken away the fantasy book that he'd been reading instead of doing his homework. And given past experience, he had a good chance of pulling this one off. But even his mommy dearest has given up believing his stories, after hearing them one or two too many times. She yelled at him even more because of it. And I wasn't feeling too much like helping him with his essay this evening as I'd planned to do. I couldn't stifle my anger for long enough, I hate to admit. What an unfair and unwise thing to do! was all I could think.

I'd like to say that this would open a new chapter in the relations between the parental units, but no. Instead, she angles to have #1 Son live with her "for a year" (uh huh, like we'd ever see him again) because our brand of parenting is obviously failing him. Never mind that hers has been a "drop-in" kind of parenting for the last 10 or so years. His troubles have become just another lever in her campaign to pry him away from our family. Sigh.

Thursday 13: Then and Now

A couple of weeks ago, someone asked me whether I ever think about what I used to be able to do before I got hurt (2 years ago), as compared to what I can do now. Do I ever? Do I ever! Do I ever stop, that's really the question. But those of you who weren't here for my first month of blogging don't necessarily realize how things have changed in the way I live. So without further ado, I give you Thirteen Things that are Different Now about SCONE I am now in pain most of each day, mostly because of the back injury. I am now addicted to painkillers because of the pain. I cannot bend over or lift my children without hurting myself very badly. I cannot do basic household chores such as laundry, sweeping, vacuuming, or picking up toys off the floor without hurting myself to varying degrees. On the other hand, I now realize how many household chores require bending or lifting. (Most of them.) I am now responsible for getting the household chores done because I am now the one who's home with the Punkin during the day. I am home during the day because I lost my job in September 2005. Because I lost my job, we no longer have a source of income that is enough to support our family, nor do we have health insurance. Because we don't have a sufficient income or health insurance, a psychopath (my husband's ex-) keeps reporting us for bad parenting to the Social Services people. Because of the persecution of the psychopath, my stress level has increased. Because my stress level is so high, I'm having more health problems. Because of more health problems, I need lots of medications, but because I have no insurance, we end up spending huge amounts of our tiny income on them. Did I mention the STRESS? Links to other Thursday Thirteens!

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Oh Bother

I'm irritable tonight. I spent my day half-conscious and in pain. When my kids and husband came home, I had about one hour of "feeling OK" time. Then I started coming unraveled. I got cranky at my family at dinner, and I can't seem to pull out of it. Each one of the kids was doing something that needed dealing with at the same time, I was starting to get a migraine, and in the middle of it all, The Man was trying to engage my attention in a lecture about Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan. I rather cynically observed that I wished I could be the college student. At that moment, I was serious. I was frustrated, I was angry, and I was just tired. I sat there with tears quietly running down my face, biting my tongue so I wouldn't say anything else. Except then #1 Son asked if he could have his fifth or sixth pancake and the words, "Sure, eat till you burst, see what I care" slipped out.

Gad. Who left me in charge of children? I've had these very long days (as opposed to the regular long days) for at least two weeks now, and I'm worn out. We're running low on food and money. I'm just worried. The job description for "full-time mom" includes, I'm sure, the fact that full-time means you work never-ending 24-hour shifts and you never ever get breaks, but somebody always forgets to mention that when you sign on. I love these punkins, I really do; I just wish I could get away from taking care of them once in a while.

So now I'm feeling guilty, TM never even joined us for dinner, the kids are misbehaving even worse, everything's rotten, and it's all my fault. Sigh... Maybe I'll feel better tomorrow.

Hahaha haahahahaha ha ha ha ha. Ha.

Long and Winding Road

I really thought I was doing OK with our straitened situation lately. I've been learning to make a variety of good meals with the same limited supply of food and keep the kids from complaining. I've learned not to whine myself even when I don't have chocolate in the house. I kept most of my misery to myself when I was out of pain medication. I keep going even when there's no money in the bank, little food in the fridge, and a severe lack of energy in my body.

But apparently there's something here that I still need to learn. I must have sighed just a little when I went to the fridge yesterday and found there was only one gallon of milk left to last us until Friday lunchtime. I must have had the fleeting thought that it would be hard to make that little bit of milk stretch so long among so many growing boys. But I had already resolved cheerfully to make the best of it (honest) by the time I got the lid off and discovered that, despite its expiration date, it had already gone bad.

I didn't cry, but I know I sighed then. I have so far to go still.

Nails on a Chalkboard

Just in the last 5 minutes that I've been logged on and reading a couple of articles on the net, I've wanted to claw my own eyes out twice because of things people wanting to sound "expert" have written. These fall under the heading Don't Use Unless You Want to Sound Like a Pretentious Git (and Have an Editor Kill You With a Blue Pencil):

• Talking about selling a house at a "high price point" -- I will kill you unless you stop after "price." Get the point?
• Advising a job applicant to include a skill summary so that the reader knows immediately their "value proposition." Dear heavens, who invented that pointless, jargony phrase? They are at the top of my list of people to visit with eggs tonight.

OK, that's all for now. I'm going to have a lie-down. After I brush the bad taste out of my mouth.

So I'm a Druggie or Something

I am seriously considering getting a new doctor. It's a shame, really, because this guy seems to know his stuff and trust me to give him accurate information. But his assistant is an idiot. Normally, that doesn't affect me too much, and I've been willing to cope with it to have a good doc who can deliver. But recently, during the disability evaluation, a woman from the Social Security office called about a note that was in my medical file. "Are you employed? Because it says here that you've been checking your blood pressure at work." Um, no. Not employed. No work. Can't work, remember? Maybe it's a reference to my blood pressure being high because of my work a year ago? She sounded extremely dubious, and I don't blame her. What the heck? I'm thinking it was a note meant for someone else's file and it got put in mine by mistake.

But then there was my latest adventure, and I'm ready to commit bodily damage on the dimwits who work at that clinic. It started when I noticed that I was getting a little low on my pain meds and decided to call for a new prescription. (Percocet requires a new paper prescription written every time you get a new supply, it being a mind-altering drug and all.) This was last week-- i.e., the third week of September-- remember that.

I guess the trouble started because I needed the new script to be the same strength as I'd been using for a long time instead of the new one the doc had given me the last time I was in. (My discount plan doesn't cover it, so it costs an arm, a leg, and most of the small intestine.) I called and explained the situation and specified the strength and dosage that I needed. The doc's assistant (Idiot Girl) called back and said I could pick up the paper. Great, I said. The Man (TM) picked it up and fortunately brought it home before stopping at the pharmacy. "Um, this is only for half the amount I need," I muttered. It being Friday evening, I had to wait until Monday to call back and ask them to correct the mistake.

So Monday morning I called, thankful that I still had a couple days' worth of pills left. The person who took my call apologized, but the doc wouldn't be in again until Tuesday. OK, fine. Except of course that TM doesn't have a free minute on Tuesdays (or Thursdays) while the clinic is open and will be unable to get it until Wednesday. Well, fortunately, I had enough meds left to survive that long.

On Wednesday, TM being worried about me, he took the script directly to the pharmacy and had it filled. When he brought it home, I took one look and screamed. It was twice the dose it should have been, so it cost well over $150. Money, I need not add, that we couldn't spare. Dear heavens, how hard is this? How many times did I specify what strength and dosage I needed? (Yes, I was in full "critical Mom" mode.) OK, the clinic's still open, let's see if we can get this fixed today. I called and left yet another message but again had to wait for Idiot Girl to call back and tell me it was ready.

Well, she didn't call on Wednesday. Thursday morning, her bright but dim voice came over the line, "We've got it right this time. Sorry for the inconvenience." Inconvenience? Really? I have exactly one more pill left-- that's 6 hours' worth-- no car, and no way to get this thing filled today. And in fact, no way to get it filled tomorrow until late afternoon. So, in fact, I faced nearly 24 hours of not just unmitigated pain but (what I didn't know) the excruciating torment of opiate withdrawal. Oooh, inconvenient, that.

By 7:30 p.m. Thursday, the Percocet had worn off and my muscles were seizing up. I took a large dose of ibuprofen, but it had no effect. By midnight, my every nerve felt as if it were on fire. I couldn't sleep, but at some point, the pain overwhelmed me and I passed out. It also woke me a bit later. I repeated this cycle several times before morning. When TM and the older kids left for school, I was having a hard time breathing because it hurt too much to move even that little bit. I couldn't even croak out, "Only 9 more hours." I wanted to blog about it; my brain was still alert enough to find the situation interesting, but I physically couldn't do even that much.

Punkin Boy was pretty good, and didn't jump on me or head-butt me or anything, and that helped a lot. Still, it was a marathon. And I was just wondering whether I could make it through that last 2 hours, when miracle of miracles, the garage door opened and in rushed TM with a pharmacy bag in his hand. He looked like nothing less than an angel of mercy bringing deliverance to a tormented soul. It took a while for the effects of the withdrawal to leave me, but much of the pain took a most welcome powder and I was able to smile again.

I'm feeling better, but I'm still looking for a new doc.

A Backward Glance

This week has been a time to stop and look back for many people. I let my mind wander back 5 years to my thoughts and feelings as the world got a little more dangerous, a little crueler. I didn't dwell too long on my feelings relief and accompanying guilt, but maybe I should. Maybe I will sometime.

This week (in fact, today) marks another disconcerting anniversary: I've officially been out of work for 1 year. For a whole year now, my family has been living on donations, student loans, temp jobs, and whatever else we can scrounge. I don't like it. I especially don't like it now that the disability determination people are looking askance at my claim that I can't work enough to support our family, and our bank is sending notices that gee, a few days ago we didn't have any money at all in our account (wouldn't it have been nice to know at the time-- no, they slam us with half a dozen fees and then send the "please deposit..." note).

Sorry. I know it's my fault for not having enough money in the account in the first place. It's supposed to be there, and it would have been there but somehow that phone call to the VA didn't get made this month and gee, there goes a thousand dollars we really needed. Aaauugh! Waaaah...

OK, stop. I'm moaning and complaining again. It's back to the desperate scrabble for us, but it's really amazing that we're still living indoors and keeping our children fed and clothed. In fact, it's a miracle. And for that miracle and all the others, I am grateful.

And... tomorrow is another anniversary-- this one of a much different type. Tomorrow is the birthday of my sweetheart husband. We're growing old together, and it feels pretty good.

And hey, on Tuesday, I get to talk like a pirate. Heh.

Up All Night

I don't even want to be typing this here. I want to be in bed. Asleep. Preferrably with my sweet husband, but he's working tonight. And I can't sleep.

You see, I heard a cough.

#1 Son has insomnia these days. He says it's been going on for a while. He came out of his room at 10:30 last night complaining of being unable to sleep, and I pointed out that perhaps if he changed from his school uniform into some pajamas and laid down in a reasonably made bed, he might feel differently. He just blinked at me. And twitched.

He does that a lot. Just looks at you, blinking uncomprehendingly. Sometimes it's almost a R.E.M. sort of movement, quick, jerky, back and forth. I think sometimes it's an effect of the redirection therapy he had a couple years back to deal with the trauma of being molested. This is a kid with a lot of repressed issues, I totally know that. I just worry that he doesn't have the coping strategies to deal with the onset of puberty and the realization of what really happened to him that will probably accompany those changes. I worry a lot.

I want to be able to just trust that everything will be OK, but there's no telling, there's just none. I want to bury my head under a pillow and hope it all goes away. I want to call up RAINN and spill my guts: "Help, I'm an adult survivor of multiple sexual assaults, two of them in the same fricking WEEK so my mom thought I was just reacting to the date rape and didn't believe me about my brother, so she didn't tell my dad so he couldn't tell HER he'd caught the little bastard at it before with my sisters and we could have gotten HELP and he could have been STOPPED before he went on to victimize kids in other states and even other countries and maybe I wouldn't have quite so many nightmares now that my stepson has been molested at his own mother's house by a kid who shouldn't even be his stepbrother except that people are so STUPID and now he's having to deal with this stupid stupid STUPID family-solidarity thing where the criminal is accepted and idolized and is his main role model of how to be a teenage boy so now he bashes his head against walls and screams that he doesn't want to be a teenager and he sleeps only 15 feet from my precious little angels and I can't just lock him in his room and I can't stay up forever, I have to sleep sometime and I want to trust him but the only way to really know whether I can is to catch him in the act of violating that trust and my little babies and at that point it will be too late for us all and what if I did catch him and go berserk and rip his throat out or smash his head in or throw him down the stairs, it's not his fault, it's HERS and it's the OTHER one's and oh just please please HELP....." I want to vomit.