I went to college. I have no idea why. My career is mindless work. It’s not even 9 am yet and I’ve already worked  with the most pissed off lady in the history of the world. Everything that sucks about her life is some way my fault. Fuck.Dat.Noise. I must say that I really can’t wrap my head around blamers. I work with a lot of blamers. No responsibility at all for the shit substances that makes up  their lives. As  if having a good attitude is so difficult. I love the ones that say things “cannot get worse”. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Oh Christ. I just peed a little. New flash, amigo. It can, and it will if you don’t STFU and change your attitude. I know it can get worse. I’ve seen it get worse. I refuse to live in a world where negativity is king. No way. There’s way too much cool shit happening every day to dwell on what sucks. I didn’t get this peppy ass attitude easily….It took me 3 weeks, because that’s how long it took my finger to heal.

                A few years back I was sitting in my mom’s car, in a drive through in Chandler, waiting to grab a drink. My kids were little. I think Hayse was an infant. I’m not sure. There’s too many kids in my life. I forget who was who or who said what.. I know I had a kid or kids though. Anyway, back to the story. I was bitching. I mean royally griping about how fucking terrible things were (they weren’t that bad). I was so stressed out about money (we weren’t that broke). I was so annoyed with how stressful school was (It was actually kinda easy). I was tired because the babies woke me up at night (they slept 12 hours, I just stayed up till 2 am so 7 am felt early). I was sick of my messy ass house (the house is always messy, I’ll give myself that one gripe). I was going on and on and on about how fucking terrible it was to be me. Poor me. Poor me. God why didn’t my mother punch me in the eye? Just recalling it makes me want to donkey punch myself.

                So I’m whining about my damn close to perfect life. I make some grandiose hand gesture about how things “Seriously-Could-Not-Get-Worse!!!”. Famous last words. Suddenly I feel this jolt of pain. My right pointer finger is on fire. It hurts. I focus my eyes on the digit that rings never fit on. There’s a mother fucking bee. It’s repeatedly squatting it’s ass into the pad of my knuckle. I  watch it plunge it’s ass into my finger three more times before it’s butt falls off and it flies away. WTF. Sitting in a closed vehicle, with my family, I am stung by a honey bee. Are you fucking kidding me. Things just got worse. I said they couldn’t. I challenged the universe. I am going to pay for it, royally.

                Within an hour my hand is so swollen that all my fingers lose feeling. My pointer finger is in full salute, unable to bend at all, looking like a foam finger at a fucking baseball game. For three weeks, I am a one handed bandit. I try to maintain a good attitude. I try to laugh it off. I know, for a fact, that things could have gotten worse. I had a bum finger. I could have lost an arm. I was lucky it was a bee. It woke my ass up. I needed it. I was a whiney bitch. There’s power in positivity. I thank that bee. He gave his life for me.  Jesus Bee. My savior.