So basically I want to get it on with my nicotine patch. Tales from the past 24 hours.

Yesterday I wrote this whole smarmy post about having a wonderful weekend and giving up smoking.  And then fate took one look at that post and thought “Mrs Woog? Shut that shit down loser.” and kicked my ass like it was no-bodies business.
It started with an Academy Award Winning performance by my son Jack who insisted he was near death. I called and made a doctors appointment before dropping Harry at school.  We then came home via Woolies where I noticed him dancing at the check out to the Christmas Carols that were booming throughout the shop.

Well played son. You got me.
We got home and started with the mundane chores that make up my life. Wash, fold, put away, play with kittens, clean up kitten shit, think about smoking etc. I called the doctor and cancelled the appointment, explaining that my son was a faker. We ate lunch together which was nice and then I made Jack have a sleep. The thing about Jack is that he is a black belt sleeper. Any time of the day or night. He gets it from his dad. And once he is asleep he is impossible to wake up.
Jack fell into a deep sleep and thus set of a chain of events I would rather forget.
We have been arguing with the real estate about putting in air conditioning for a few years now. Last week Mr Woog lost his shit during a really hot night and said “Can you just organise the air-con and we will pay for it.” No arguments there! So the illegal air-conditioning men arrived (illegal as the real estate agent said we could not install it as we did not have permission and we could not get permission as the fucking landlords would not return her calls) and started doing their thing. I collected the post and read a letter from the real estate informing me that they were putting up our rent by the most ridiculous sum ever. Whatever sum you are imagining, times it by ten.
I immediately called the real estate agent and left her a voice message saying that there was a typo in her letter, that she had put an extra zero on the sum and could she please resend. I hung up the phone and it rang straight away. It was the school saying Harry had just power spewed and could I come get him.
Even with the sound of drilling through sandstone,  I could not for the life of me wake Jack up. (cue a little deaf joke…) I carried him to the car and told the cheery Chinese airconditioning men that I would be back. They told me they only took cash so of course I had to go to the bank. It was a pity there was only about $26 in the account so I tried calling Mr Woog from the car but he was playing squash.
I do not think I had ever hated anyone in the world as much as I hated him at that moment.
I collected a green Harry who vomited in a leaky bag all the way home as Jack gave me a running commentary of the back seat scene. It I had been thinking clearly, I would have left Jack at school.
Got home and tended to Harry. The airconditioning men finished and even though it was not hot,  I blasted the house with sweet cold air. Just because I could.
Hidden somewhere, the gentle waft on kitten shit hit my nostrils.
I really felt like a cigarette.
The real estate lady called me back and I started crying. A bit fake and a bit real. She was horrified and said she would go back and negotiate. Mr Woog arrived home and asked how my day was.
The rest of the evening went by in a blur of vodka. Harry slept with me and a thousand towels. I could hear his poor tummy groaning all night. You know the drill. Sip of water = half an hour of dry retching. I did not sleep much but was in a REALLY deep sleep this morning when Mr Woog came in and announced the house stank of kitten shit. And then he left for work.
30 seconds later Harry wandered in and stood at the end of my bed before hurling a litre of spew onto the king sized doona.
It is now 8am. And I really feel like a cigarette. I am not going to have one. Because life is too short, remember?