Now she's supposed to take the two big dogs, (Jack, a Shepherd wolfy mix, and Puppy, a Dalmatian Pit Bull), to get bathed and groomed at Petco. She's standing outside calling Jack over and over again and I should go out there and help her but I so want her to be able to do her job without me and she is so fucking helpless sometimes it drives me mad. I made this appointment last Thursday, she was standing right next to me when I did it, and I asked her if she could handle it -- handle taking the two big dogs in my big car to this store that is only a ten minute drive from our house -- and she said yes. But I just knew it was going to be a problem. She is lousy with directions and she's a delicate baby. I don't know why she wants to work for us when this job requires a strapping German milkmaid type.
Anyway I just printed out the directions and went over and over them with her and she just doesn't get it. There are only three turns, go here turn left, go there turn right, go here turn left, and she looks like she just knows she's going to get lost. Then there's the problem with the dogs, "Oh are they going to jump all over me when I'm driving?" Oh man! She's been working for us for a few months now and she still can't drive the dogs anywhere? I thought she'd taken them to the park, argh, argh, argh. I have to go with her she's too freaked out. She came back upstairs holding the leash like a frightened little girl and said, "Jack won't stay away from the front of the car." Well, of course he won't, but when you're sitting there in the driver's seat and you tell him to go sit in the back he does. But if you put him in the car and you stare at him from outside the car and just say, "Jack, Jack, Jack," over and over again, he's obviously not going to understand what you want him to do. Fuck, Fuck, Fuckitty, Fuck, Fuck, as our friends from South Park would say. She also asked me what I thought she should do with all my Mother's vintage clothes that are in the back of the car. Hmmmm, let me think about that for a minute, take the clothes out or let the dogs tromp all over them, that's a hard one.
My whole problem with this is that all of my health problems are related to my lack of sleep and I need a helper who can do things for us in the mornings while I'm sleeping. I don't sleep well at night because that's when my bladder and my fibromyalgia are at their worst, so I get my best sleep from about seven until eleven in the morning. I know this must sound weird and lazy to some people but if you haven't had to live with a burning hurting bladder and then wound up getting fibromyalgia, where every part of your body hurts and hurts and hurts because you are chronically sleep deprived, unless you're super empathic and kind, you just may not get this. Which is just one more reason why it feels good to be hiding this post behind the "Friends Only" function.
When I have to get up early to help my helper take the dogs to the groomer, my whole day is shot because I hurt all day. When I hurt all day I don't feel like exercising and I don't feel like having sex and you can see how my life can go downhill from there.
I'm just whining here, really. That's one of the many things I use this journal for, to just kind of get things off my chest so they aren't clogging up my channel all day. I really don't need simple advice like, "Oh you should get rid of her," believe me I've thought of that but I'm just not up for the alternative right now. I don't want to go through a big manhunt for a replacement for Irma who was wonderful and who I will probably never find a replacement for. We've got a big magazine shoot coming up in a few weeks and then we're going to Burning Man, there just isn't the time to interview and train a replacement, plus I don't have the heart to fire her. Besides there's the fact that I can only afford to pay so much and in the illegal-helper's-who-will-put-up-with-tw
Oh man she just came in and said, "When are we leaving the dogs are impatient." I asked her to grab me a shirt so I could toss it over this grey slinky dress I'm wearing and she looked at me like I was speaking Chinese. I'm totally fluent in Spanish by the way and when someone doesn't get you in their own language something is really off. So I asked her to bring me this jean shirt, I said it very, verrry slowly using hand gestures and she walked away saying, "Oh okay I'll go get you a skirt." Waaaaa? How am I going to hide the fact that I'm not wearing a bra or underwear with a skirt? Just one more thing I have to do for myself. I feel like deleting all of this because I don't want to be judged for having problems that really aren't problems or being a bourgeoise pig girl but it's my journal damnit so what the hell....