Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Morgan and the Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day

I realize how horrible it is that I come back from an extended hiatus, where the last post was a typical sadsack type affair in which I quoted a Ryan Adams song and became very dramatic and angsty, and I return with a title like the one I just typed. But here's the thing. When today is over, as it will be in just 10 glorious hours, I will laugh about all this. Because from the outside, all of this is comical in a wonderful, belly laughing way. Perhaps for you it will be comical right now. And from what I've read on blogs and via Facebook status message, today just sucks for everyone, all around. Today, Tuesday, September 6, is just a giant douche. It should die in a fire.

Let me first start out by saying that it has rained here FOREVER. It started over the weekend, continued into yesterday and is still sort of sprinkling right now. Rain in VA at this time of year is usually of the variety that only sticks around for a bit, an hour tops, and then dissipates . This, however, has been unrelenting. Now, I know this is small potatoes for those of you affected by hurricanes and tornadoes and all of the jazz, but let me be clear: this blows. Unless you are at home, under your covers with a good book, there is absolutely nothing good that can come of this. Again, with emphasis: BLOW-Y.

The rain yesterday was so heavy that it caused a leak in my house. I, in all my years of living on my own, have never had a leak. This is important because it explains why I was running through the house when I discovered it, yelling insane things about buckets and towels and rain boots. Where does the leak spring up? Well, of all places that it could have happened, of all easily discoverable places, it happens behind my closed closet door. So I don't notice it or hear it until well after it got started. So all of my clothes got wet. Puddles formed inside of my pumps. I don't have to tell you that that BLOWS. I took things out of the closet, but I didn't get everything in time, of course.

So with that in mind, and just for ease, and well, because you guys seemed to like it last time I did it, I will give you a brief, truthful run-down of my day:
--Get up. Wonder if I am being tortured for sins committed in a past life. Getting up after a three day weekend is like that.
--Take a shower. Everything is still going ok here. I am surprised.
--Wander into kitchen. Realize that I have neglected to buy anything for breakfast the day before. Eat a cookie and drink some orange juice. NUTRITION! (I should point out that the cookies are ok, nutrition wise, made from this recipe.)
--Wander back into bathroom to blow dry hair. Find that the water and leak has tripped up the wiring, so now none of the outlets in the bathroom have power. Fiddle around with it, thinking I can fix it if I just click it on ONE MORE TIME until I have very little time to get ready.
--End up putting hair in very unfortunate ponytail.
--Realize that nearly all clothes are wet with rain.
--Find favorite chambray shirt clean and pressed. SCORE. Decide to wear it. Realize then that all of my bras and shapewear are wet from being washed on gentle the night before and totally forgotten in the washing machine. Shirt cannot be worn with out a cami underneath as it comes unbuttoned easily. DRATS.
--Find a sweater and cami from fall of last year and put them on. Try not to notice that the arms of the sweater are a tinge tighter this year. (If you had seen what I ate over the weekend, you wouldn't be a bit surprised.) Also try not to notice that horrible bra straps from horrible bra (only one not being washed) can easily sneak out from behind sweater neckline.
--Get the kids up. Gabby is abnormally grouchy. Sam has a meltdown when I tell him that we don't have cereal. Offer toast, eggs, any imaginable breakfast food. He refuses to eat any of them, and falls in a sleepy heap on the couch, rising only to eat a small cup of yogurt when begged, pleaded with, and cajoled.
--Put on make-up and a lot of jewelry, hoping that this masks the fact that rest of me looks like crap.
--Get kids out the door. Gabby lets slip that she has received a text message from an old acquaintance telling her that the school she attends is closing. Tell her this is a rumor and not to worry about it. Quietly wonder if it is true.
--Get to work. Check bank account. Realize a deposit that I thought had been made had not because of the holiday. Quietly freak out.
--Find huge stack of files and collection of passive aggressive notes left by boss who worked on Labor Day. Plot her demise. Smile graciously when she arrives to work.
--Call vice principal of school re: rumor and the independant study class that Gabby is taking (and I am supervising). Try to ignore her tone of voice regarding the class (more on this later). Have her tell me school will "probably not" close.
--Fire off slightly stressed sounding email to superintendent of schools. (It is best just to get out of my way on days like this.)
--Call insurance company to ask a question about vision benefits. Get so angry about phone answering system (and the fact that I don't have our policy number handy) that I hang up phone in disgust. Vision benefits can suck it! I'll buy my own damn glasses! Pay for my own appointments!
--Think better of this.
--Spend all day in quiet war with neverending stack of files on my desk.

Seeing it all typed out here, it sounds rather benign. It has not felt that way. But perhaps having typed it all out is a way of coping, a way of seeing it and saying, "Well, ok, that's not so bad! Chin up ole chap!"

I have to admit that I typed this out for another reason too. This past weekend, I went over to a friend's house to drop off some clothes she had purchased from me. We were chatting as she went through the items and we started talking about being a mom and and a wife in this time of Facebook and blogging and all of the other stuff that the demise of our world will probably be blamed on. We both ended up sort of lamenting the lack of "real-ness" out there, how that we both felt that we were floundering sometimes in the face of all of the "perfection" put out there by others.

And that's the thing about the internet--everyone is perfect here. Or at least that's what they would have you believe. No one admits that they have bad days or that somedays, they come to work with their bra straps hanging out but they just don't give a damn. No one lets it slip that they sometimes have cash flow issues, that best laid plans are derailed by having to get their damn breaks fixed on their damn car, that it is becoming more and more rare that they make it out for a run, that some days their house is a veritible sea of toys that they are lucky to wade through to the front door.

I'm here to tell you that I am not perfect. That my life today is a grand scale of fuck-uppery. That I've had a bad day, and it is mostly my fault--I forgot to take out the bras, I didn't buy the cereal, I didn't pay close enough attention to my bank account.

But oh well. Live and learn. And hopefully, September 6 will go peacefully and die in the corner like the horrible, mangy dog that it is.


  1. If it helps, I'd like you to know that I often have days in which I wonder why God hates me. As I'm fond of saying, it ain't easy being me. Also, I never feel truly chic anymore. I was at the salon weekly for a range of treatments, waxing, pedicures, facials, massages. Let's just say I was high maintenance with money to burn as a single gal. Now, well, I'm lucky to give myself a pedicure at home. I pluck my eyebrows when I realize they need it. And most of my clothes are old and fit differently since I've given birth. So yeah, I feel you. Hope September 7th is much better than the 6th!

  2. Hell, girl, let's start a club. Hee hee! Don't you just hate the Perfect People?! Sheesh. I know I'm forever comparing myself to everyone I know on FB and IRL and everyone has something that I don't have...good-paying and creative job, partner, children, purchased-not-rented home, cool car, awesome vacations...I could go on and on. But then I remind myself that someone somewhere might be saying, "You know, I really wish I could be a quirky single chick in her thirties with a cat and grad school classes!" And then I laugh. :-)

    And hey, we made it to 7 Sept. Huzzah!