Last week was disastrous. Every day there was something. On Monday morning, the week pushed me down and every subsequent day took their turn kicking me in the stomach and throwing dirt in my eyes. At the risk of suffering post traumatic stress, an overview:
… On Monday, I destroyed a very, very expensive office chair. MY office chair. I will spare you the details how, but it was all just an embarrassing mess of a morning. Now the chair, the very, very expensive chair, is stained permanently and I have to take great pains in hiding the seat when I’m not sitting on it, lest someone think I suffered from some serious digestive unrest. Which I totally didn’t. Let’s just say I hate being a girl.
… On Tuesday, I got my cellphone bill and it was $650. That is OUTRAGEOUS. I did NOTHING over and above what my current plan covers fully. I’ll not go into it, but I’m SO lucky AH does what he does as a profession and knows what he knows. We don’t owe $650, but those couple of hours between opening the bill and when AH spoke to our service provider where TENSE.
… On Wednesday, I dropped my lunch at work. I hadn’t taken more than a half of one bite, when something terrible happened. I’m not being dramatic; I have no idea what happened. One moment, my container of delicious spaghetti with homemade meatballs in a vegetable bolognese sauce was sitting safely on my desk and then next it was on the floor, upside down. There is no 5-second rule with spaghetti. There is no 5-second rule for ANYTHING if it falls on the floor of my office.
… Later that same day I took my car to the dealer for an oil change. An oil change generally takes, what, a half an hour? An HOUR and a half later and it still wasn’t done. This is NOT unusual for my dealer. After two hours (seriously? for an oil change?), the woman who works the desk came by and sat next to me with a clip board. Not a good sign. Apparently the mechanic found that my front left control arm was cracked and loose. Dangerous to drive, needed to be fixed before it could leave the lot. What started out at $40 oil change turned into $890 worth of major, necessary repairs. Mind you, this car is less than 4 years old and has fewer miles on it than most 1 year old cars. I was alone and know nothing about cars, so I had the woman call Anonymous Husband and talk to him. He sorted through what was urgent and what was just them trying to squeeze as much money out of us as possible and in the end it still cost $740, including the oil change. Again, I hate being a girl.
… Thursday wasn’t terrible, but I was up until nearly 1am recapping Jersey Shore and when I finally got to bed, I was kept awake by a steady rotation of snoring, being kicked and elbowed by someone who was actually asleep, and both of the girls hacking and coughing and gagging from some horrifying cold they’d both developed. Because of course they did. By the time my alarm clock went off at 6:45, I’d gotten about an hour of sleep. Cumulative, not consecutive.
… Yesterday was. It just was. It was stressful and emotional in a whole variety of ways. Not all of it was bad stress, but stress is stress and after 4 days of this, I was at the point where it was getting very hard to handle. The day ended with an enormous vodka and cranberry juice, of which the proportions were distinctly 50/50.
But today is Saturday. Saturday is the day that stands between me and last Monday, protective, like Superman. Saturday glares at last Monday, daring it to even think about pushing me down again. Monday runs away like a coward, yelling over it’s shoulder “This isn’t over! I’ll be back next week and you’ll be SORRY!” Then Saturday hands me a glass of wine and rubs my feet.
… Anonymous Husband is in our rec room with Eirinn and Avery. They’ve got the iPod cranked as high as it will go, playing various drum-heavy rock and pop songs. He’s on one set of drums (the full sized set) and Eirinn is on hers (a half-sized child version – very much real, but tiny) and they are wailing away. I hear him yelling instructions to her, trying to teach her to play. She’s wearing earplugs, so I’m sure she can’t hear. Avery has her microphone and she’s doing her best to sing along, dancing to the beat.
… Handy Manny is on the tv in front of me. I can’t reach the remote and I’m so warm and snuggly underneath my laptop. I can’t hear it anyway. See above.
… There’s a bottle of wine chilling in the fridge. After this week, Saturday is treating me well. Any impending disaster can wait until Monday.