I don’t have any witty tales or snarky stories today. Sorry. And there are very bad words ahead.
Today just really sucked.
Fuck you autism, and fuck your friend, ADHD. I’m sick and goddamn tired of you two ass-clowns turning my sweet little boy into an aggressive little monster and turning homework time into a battlefield. You’re holding our family hostage and sucking the joy out of our very existence.
And while I’m at it, a big FUCK YOU to Smokey Robinson and his “Tracks of My Tears.” Why? Because I fucking want to. What does Smokey know about tears anyway? Has he ever had his only child completely unravel emotionally because he was born with a disorder that came on like a freight train? Maybe he has. I don’t really know. Whatever. Screw him and his stupid sad-ass song anyway. When Smokey dreads driving home from work every day because he doesn’t know what he’ll be walking into, then I’ll apologize. And then he can sing about sad clown tears until the cows come home.
Aside from Smokey, this is one of those days I want to bust out of this prison of ABA therapy and behavior extinction. But I can’t. No, wait, I could if I chose to. But I’m in this for the long haul.
You’ll have to excuse me, but, like Bobby Brown, it’s my prerogative to lose my mind on occasion. Yeah, you know, I pretty much warned you right up front, right there in the title.
I’m taking my tired ass and throbbing head and ringing ears to bed now, so I can get up and do it all again tomorrow. Hopefully I’ll have something more witty, and less self-pitying to say tomorrow. And I’ll try not to insult any more Motown legends.
So move along now, there’s nothing more to see here.