nixtress's Diaryland Diary

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I've mastered English...but today wouldn't prove it

Ever had a day where you end up feeling as if you're speaking another language?

That's my day. And all I'd like is for someone to listen to me...not as in LISTEN because I'm a mean grumpy bitch and I'm the boss but listen to me as in hear what I'm saying and take what I'm saying for what it is.

I don't think I'm so hard to understand.

Examples? I'd really like someone to help me fix the light over my sink. It's difficult to try and turn off the breaker downstairs while depending on two small beings to tell me when I get the right one. And going without that light might drive me completely insane--have you ever tried to wash dishes in the half-dark? There's nothing like drinking a nice satisfying glassful of, say, soda and then glancing down to find white milk crust in the bottom of the glass.

Yet, when I ask for a body to just be here, I'm greeted with the big male sigh and eye roll that means they think I'm wanting them to do it for me because I'm a helpless female. And that's so not it. I can change the fixture--screwdrivers are fairly easy to master.

Another example? I call to ask what the game plan is with my car--if they have even gotten to it, etc. And I get the "lady, we're doing the best we can" tone. That tone that makes it sound like I'm being a pushy broad and wanting my car to take priority when they're already overworked and underpaid. And trust me, there was no pressure coming from my end. I want them to take their time and be thorough so I don't have to deal with this crap anymore.

Example three---My sons tonight. I ask them to do their homework and I'm met with blank stares, as if some hungry brain beast has snuck into their heads and eaten every last cell up there.

I think I'm speaking English. I'm pretty sure that I'm not stuttering or stumbling over the words.

I'm not one of those chicklets that pretends they mean one thing when they're saying something else--I'm pretty direct. I pretty much say what I'm thinking.

Just..apparently not today.

***

And I'm thinking a rousing bout of hot and horny sex might help the situation. No, really. Hear me out. Not the sweet, lovey dovey stuff (although I firmly believe in aftercare) but the pounding, bruising, biting, sucking kind that leaves thighs sore and arms shaking and energy completely depleted, sheets drenched and breathing incredibly labored. Such a great stress relief. And there's not much to understand in the throes of that activity. I probably wouldn't have to worry about whether I was speaking English then..grunts, moans, groans and sighs would probably suffice.

Let me know if I need to clarify, will you?

N.

8:15 p.m. - 2004-04-13

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