How to make a SheBee want to strangle herself with a rusty belt strap:

1. Make her get dressed on ice cold tiles of her bedroom at 6am after an ice cold shower when there’s no hot water, on a cold day.
2. Watch as she decides to stand on her bed instead, away from the tiles, and simultaneously slam her head on the powered-on fan, trip over her towel and faceplant the pillows but not before slamming her hand into the very much iron made burglar bars over her bedroom window.
3. Laugh as she slips down the slippery wet stair case and lands on her bum right in front of her lift-club.
4. Stare in amazement, feel free to even let your mouth hang open, while her manager informs her AFTER THREE FUCKING WEEKS OF ASKING, that her employment contract may not be renewed due to the american recession and lack of business coming in.  The contract expires in one week.
5. Marvel with her, as she tackles her overgrown and desperately in need of a shave legs, with a razor that cuts her achilles tendon.  Try not to take over when she desperately tries to bandage it up with toilet paper, the only thing available until the housemates come home.
6. Try not scream in frustration when you notice how her bed has been marked yet, again, with kitteh wee.
7. Grab a towel and wipe down SheBee’s beloved late daughter’s framed pictures as they’ve been rained upon through the forgotten window which was not closed.

That’s all.  There were other things, but those are the high-lights that really make up my Monday.  It’s peachy, this life thing.

Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow will be better. Please, for the love of peanut butter and jelly toasted marshmellows, tomorrow will be better.