It’s been a trying few weeks.
It’s tried my patience.
It’s tried my commitment to coffee and tequila.
It’s tried my ability to speak without swearing.
It’s tried my sense of security.
It’s tried my will to get things done.
It’s 100% tried to stop my brain working so I can write.
It’s just fucking trying.

But yay, I can put all that aside on Saturday morning and go teach crime writing. 🙂

The windows are still boarded up while we wait for the glazier.

A crime scene cleaning company rang today to find a time when they can come clean up the blood … two weeks after the event is a little late to be cleaning anything. Did they really think we’d be living in a house with rando strangers blood splashed about for two fucking weeks?? Fuckwits.

Victim support rang again and want to get hold of Grandson One who could be any-fucking-where and his phones were stolen. So there’s no getting hold of him.
Annoyingly they were going to replace all the rugs that were ruined in the home invasion but the claim has to be in Deaglan’s name because he was the one who was home when it happened or some shit.

So I’ll be replacing everything myself then. No one is going to get hold of him. No one knows where he is and he is unreachable because he has no phone. He doesn’t live here anymore.

Still nothing from Wairau Hospital. So much for people ringing back. They’re absolutely useless down there and have no clue how to keep anyone informed. We’ve had so many different stories that I no longer believe anything they say anyway … communication is not a skill that anyone down there seems to be any good at.

I am sick to fucking death of idiots.
Don’t be an idiot. I have enough to people to kill in the current WIP, I don’t want to put your name in there as well.

You can just see the boarded ranchslider in this image of Diesel and Dallas. FYI Diesel is as jumpy as fuck and gets quite growly when he hears male voices now because he was inside when three men smashed their way into the house with softball bats and a machete.