Day 341 "Please Fuck Off"

There are some things my dad has lectured me on over the years. Most of them are about "obeying the rules" wherein the summary is almost always: "Pollow dem, or eelsse," insert Mr. Miyagi-like shake of head here, "Youu will reegret it."

Considering that I've cheated my way through a lot of life obstacles (and maybe a test or two but can you reeeally call it cheating when your teacher copies the test from the practice book??), I tend not to follow the Asian Wiseman on a lot of topics. One thing that I won't argue against, though, is about work. Dad's one of those leave-me-be-I'll-leave-you-be-but-I'll-judge-you-from-a-distance-anyway-when-you-don't-do-things-just-as-I-do. But he's got his lightbulb moments when he talks about avoiding creating conflict, biting your tongue instead of having it cut off, and covering your ass.

I channeled his non-ending lectures along with a healthy amount of "FUCK YOU, YOU STUPID CUNT"s  that circled my brain as I contemplated chucking a syringe into an awful, just godfrickin AWFUL mother that comes onto my unit. I've dealt with difficult mothers before: the ones who won't stop crying even though you just put their kid in a crib, the overly-aggressive ones who get defensive because they think you're looking down on them for not taking care of their kids, the needy ones who need someone to always talk to them otherwise they turn into the ones who won't stop crying and the list goes on and on. 


As happy as I am with work, with the money I'm getting and the education-after-education I get exposed to on a daily basis, I like to think that work has also helped to teach me a certain amount of self-control that keeps me from bitchslapping some women who seriously should've just kept their damn legs closed. 

Too soon?