Tuesday, September 14, 2010



I have been tired when I get home. I am totally zonked. I have not really been working all that hard, I just have been so stressed. When things start to go wrong, things put away in the wrong place, other people not doing their job right... things left undone... I start to stress. I way over react. I try to fix everything. I want predictability... I want CONTROL. I get biiiiiiitchy. I irritate people. I don't even like me at times like that. So I have decided that I am a duck.

I am not in control. I am not the queen of the whole fucking school. I can't fix things. I sure as hell can't control things. I am a duck. Stress is the water that rolls off my back. I can keep busy, do my job the best I can, help and support people when they ask... and not BEFORE they ask.

I can be a busy duck...

See the busy feet... yet serene... all blue water and happy feet. Yes I am a duck. In fact just about any time during the school day, you will see me going "quack" quietly, serenely or even frantically. Quack.

So speaking of cheese... You regular readers may remember me commenting once about poisoning the ants that have been eating my house.

Look what those little fuckers did to my house... MY HOUSE!!!!

Now Master has to fix it.

I know, not the most flattering of angles, but I am a little mad at him... well, a LOT mad at him.

I was in the kitchen, making cornbread to go along with the delicious left over vegetable beef soup we were having for dinner. He was walking back and forth, up and down the stairs. I was not paying a whole lot of attention to him. MISTAKE!!! BIG MISTAKE... BANG!!!

He hit me with this.

It was like a bomb going off in the kitchen. It lifted me right up off the ground. I peed my pants. It scared the holy living fuck out of me. It hurt, but it was not the pain, it was the complete, total, absolute shock and subsequent terror. I cried. He laughed. I cried some more, blubbering in incoherent outrage. He laughed and laughed and laughed. I got MAD. There is nothing that shakes my resolve to be good than being scared and then mocked.

I was shooting daggers at him. I lifted my hand to hit him. And he lifted a brow, shut the front door and bent me over and caned my pissy ass. If I was allowed gratuitous ass pictures I could put up the rosy red result. And I am still mad and if I don't watch out...

...my goose will be cooked.


  1. You have my vote for queen of the blogger pond. I know there is real, difficult emotion behind this post, but you make it so entertaining for the rest of us. Thank you, xantu. I will forever picture you with busy little webbed feet.

  2. http://oldpoetry.com/opoem/show/6390-Frank-W-Harvey-Ducks