Fuck the Shit

Dammit to hell. First thing this morning, The D told me the volume didn't work on the remote and he had to get up and push the buttons on the TV. I've lost the TV remote. I put it somewhere so Daddy wouldn't fuck with it and change the input code (which he frequently does) and now I can't remember where I put it. So I called ComCrap. They said it would be a 4 minute wait, or I could leave a call back number and I wouldn't lose my place in line. An hour later, the phone rings. Typical. I spent a good 45 minutes on the phone trying things over and over again with a nice Indian lady but nothing worked. I told her I'd done it before. Several times. Before I called, I printed out the Comcast remote control programming codes (there are several for each brand of TV), but it was so tiny that I couldn't read it. Also, the codes there were so outdated. They were four digits instead of five. Typical.

So Deb, the Golden Child, sashays in to take The D on his weekly outing. Today it's the barber shop and Sam's. He loves it. Highlight of his week. I was on the phone w/ CrapCast and when I hung up, GC grabs the remote and starts pushing buttons. She says his favorites don't work. Unless you switch it to cable mode. But then the volume doesn't work. Simple solution. She thinks. She showed D how to switch back and forth when he wants to access his favorites. She thinks he'll remember. No. What'll happen is he'll appear in my office seven times a day expecting me to drop what I'm doing and come fix it. He'll be frustrated. With me.

All of a sudden, I'm overwhelmed to the point of panic. Gonna close here, try to breathe, take a hot shower, and sequester myself in my office until I get halfway organized and make a huge list of the ten million things I have to do. Maybe then, I won't feel this irresistible urge to run away and never come back.