NJM 26 in NoJoMo 2018

1:41 pm

Well, I begged my client to let me take that basket of socks home with me. I had no fucking idea that the socks were packed into that laundry basket so tight! Filled up a big black trash bag with them. It’s gotta weigh at least 50 pounds. I know it’s heavier than a big bag of dog food.

So guess what I’ll be doing? I figure I’ll throw my music on, set the timer for 1 hour, and sort the socks into piles. Girl socks, men’s socks, big ass bulky thermal socks. Then after I get them sorted into those piles, I will attempt to match them. lol oh man.

When I sent my client the text she said “I’m making your OCD worse with my sock issues, huh?” I answered in the affirmative. She then said “You’re one of the very few people that doesn’t put your foot on the top of my drowning head”. I said “nah. I’m not that kind of person”. … … I am in my head. It’s like I want to teach everyone in the house basic housekeeping skills or something. But I think she is just fighting a losing battle. They’ve lived like this for so long, it’s impossible to change them.

And yes, I am charging for matching the socks. Not sure how much, though. That’s why I’m setting the timer, so I can keep track of how long. I just don’t know if I’m going to charge my normal hourly fee, or the price per load of laundry, which is less. Meh. I don’t know. I just want it done.

I better get another cuppa coffee in me, then hit the socks.

6:00 pm

Worked on the socks for two hours. a lot of odd socks on the girls side. And how? They’re all funky colored socks. How do you miss a bright neon purple and pink sock? I put them all in a grocery bag. I did manage to match quite a few while sorting them into their appropriate pile, so that’s good. But I only went through the women’s socks to match. The white and black socks have to wait. My back is pissed off at me for the way I was sitting and bending. I just took a handful of ibuprofen and Flexaril. I should use my back stretcher.

But first, coffee.

Prompt: Which of the “seven deadly sins” do you think you fall into? Why?

This was harder for me to answer than I thought it was. At first I was going to say sloth. Yeah, I work my ass off, but only when I’m paid to do it. Otherwise, I’m a lazy piece of shit.

But I think wrath fits me better. I have a temper. I bottle things up until something lights that fuse and BOOM! And I’m not nice when I’m angry. I say hurtful things, I will physically attack you. Most of the time when I cut, it’s because I’m really very angry and I don’t want to hurt someone. So I punch a fence post, or a tree, or I cut.

No one messed with me when I was a teen. My anger was not controlled at all. Put it this way. A guy I was dating pissed off “Crazy Bob”. Bob truly lived up to his name. You didn’t want to fuck with him. So Jim pissed him off (Jimmy was like, 6‘5” and weighed a good 300 pounds) and that fucker Jim hid behind me! I’m 5‘3” tall, and at that time I probably weighed 115 pounds.

I was pissed off at Jim, not Bob. I remember feeling that anger bubble up. I know it showed on my face, in my eyes, in the way I held my body. I was ready for a fight.

Bob got right in my face, nearly touching my nose with his. I didn’t blink. I wanted to wrap my hands around that fuckers throat. You don’t get in my face unless you want to get hurt.

Bob was the first to move. He took a step back, still looking at me with his crazy-ass eyes. Then he said “Shit, man! You’re crazier than I am!” and walked back to his car.

And still today, you don’t want to get in my face and threaten me. I’ll throw the first punch. Don’t get in my space. Just… don’t.