Today, and yesterday, and really this whole week has spun me like a top. I’m dizzy and confused, and somewhat self pitying wondering why mama had to say there would be days like this, and why there are sometimes just so damn many strung together.
There will be no silver lining in this piece, no positive ending about the lessons of life. I know they are in there somewhere, but today, in this moment, I just want to write about the suck and commiserate with those that are going through their own suck as well. Complaining can be cleansing if we can just be allowed to wallow for a moment. I’ll be tougher tomorrow. I’ll keep on keeping on next week. But today, right now, I’m acknowledging that bad hours, days, weeks happen when you’re a human trying to do the right thing. And, oh ya, I know that many people have it much worse, and I always acknowledge that. But no one likes cleaning dog poop out of a vacuum, ok? No one.
First of all, every damn piece of structure keeps just falling down in my house. Ok, not every structure. It was like one thing, but the timing, you know? The curtain rod just fell down while I was involved in cleaning up a more cerebral mess over email with work. I was just sitting there in one of those moments of anger and worry and stress, kind of frozen, and the damn curtain rod decided to plummet into the tub, drawing me from my trance with it’s loud “clang” noise. The vacuum went through dog crap again the other day because my dogs have feet made of sugar and can’t walk outside in the rain to poop when they have to. One of them also knocked the hot chocolate off the table and broke a coffee cup. The tree skirt is tied up in a knot and the laundry is now like four days out and there will be no catching up on it. Ever. Forever. I will just be doing laundry until I die. I might have to do it while I am a ghost as well. We’ll see.
A major error occurred with payroll that I take responsibility for not catching as the employee, but I won’t even for a minute entertain taking all of the responsibility. Because you know, the payroll employee that messed it up in the first place and also didn’t catch it for five months has some responsibility too, even though they so nonchalantly tried to awaken my inner beast this morning by trying to pass the buck cleanly to me. I’ll take some of the change, sure, but that fuck up is clearly yours friend, and a simple apology for the error and consequent extra money I will be out for the next couple months seems appropriate instead of the shoulder shrug and reminder to check my paystubs more closely.
My exercise program is going great though. It’s the one where you exercise more, eat better, and still gain weight. So, at least I’m good at that.
My kids are cool too. I mean, mostly. One is twelve and a half and I think that’s all I really need to say about that.
I just opened a package that had a gift in it and the gift is completely broken. I mean, torn to shreds inside the packaging. Someone gave it to a pack of rabid dogs for maybe ten minutes, scooped it up off the ground, placed it in the box, taped it up, and sent it to me. The thought of going to the store to return the item is making me itch. And twitch. Shopping in general is a major panic attack evoking event. Add in the joy of the holidays, and I prefer to stay out of an actual store for the entirety of December. But I’ll have to go soon to return the rabid-dog eaten gift and get a different one.
I just have to sort this all out, and I’m going to be crabby while I do it. Go find your spoonful of sugar somewhere else. This bitch is tired and out of patience.
In the words of lyrical sage Monica, “Just one of them days, that a girl goes through, when I’m angry inside, don’t want to take it out on you, just one of them days…”
Rachael Coughlin 