Apparently, I Just Broke
To begin with, let me just say that I watched the Six Feet Under series finale last night, and I AM NOT OVER IT. No. I have not recovered, and every time I even think of that last epilogue-type closing sequence, I start to CRY, and Y'ALL. I am not a crier. And all I can think now is WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME, because...TELEVISION SHOW! Six Feet Under is a TELEVISION SHOW, and meanwhile, Real Life is like, sitting there, waving at me confusedly, all, "Wait, am I not...enough for you? Why do you never cry for me? Jim never vomits at home!"
(I mean...y'all. Poor Dukay made the unwise and unfortunate decision to call as I was watching the final ten minutes, and I answered the phone, LITERALLY BAWLING, like shoulders-shaking, hiccupping bawling, and after dating for almost four years, a time which has included funerals, Dukay has never seen me in such a state. As a result, I succeeded in thoroughly terrifying him, quite possibly forever. He was like, "WHO DIED?" and I was like, "EVERYONE EVERYWHERE.")
(OH, and then I felt the need to call my mom, while I was still sobbing, and tell her that I love her. Fortunately, she knows and watches Six Feet Under, and even though she had not seen the finale, she understood my little meltdown, and made nice-Mommy noises. Thanks, Mom, for not having me immediately committed! Kisses!)
(...okay, listen. People, I am under a lot of stress right now. And then, that finale, it just...I don't know! It AFFECTED me. Don't judge! Just, you know. Laugh at me! It's healthy!)
ANYWAY. So, feeling neglected by the comparative lack of emotion I tend to display for actual events, Real Life decided that maybe it would FUCK WITH ME TODAY, to see whether it could elicit the same type of emotional response from the generally level-headed, logical, happy-go-lucky me. But HA HA, Real Life! You will not beat me down! Even though you tried REALLY HARD, and for that I give you props, because...y'all, this day? SUCKED.
And I don't know what it was about today (except I am generally stressed and just crazy-like right now anyway) because I have survived MUCH worse days, days that involved things like death or other assorted horror, and yet...AND YET! This day has almost done me in, y'all! SOMEONE COME HOLD ME.
Anyway. Let's review:
7:30: Wake uppish. Bo, in a radical change from his usual morning routine of stubbornly hiding under the covers, is oddly very eager to rise! Can't wait! Turns out, decided priority = pooping, and as such, he does not make it quite all the way to the door. Result: One large, steaming fun pile of poo abooooooooooooout twelve inches from the back door, with Bo running, all four legs crossed, to the bathroomish freedom that is the yard, tiny turds still popping from his backside like so many sands from a small, fat, brown hourglass.
7:31: Paper towels. Very many paper towels. Sigh. Good morning, world.
8:15: Leave to go to work. Pick up Dad, whose car is in ths shop, and whatever because we go to the same office anyway, and Hi, Dad!
8:16: Learn I will also be taking Dad to the airport, circa afternoonish. Okay! Break from work! Also, Dad invites me to lunch. Day is LOOKING UP!
8:50: DAY IS LOOKING DOWN. Arrive at work, and learn that Important Earth-Changing Brief that was due on Friday? NOOOOO! Now due TOMORROW. 50 pages, minimum. Hope you weren't planning to, I don't know. Sleep.
8:51: Begin frantically working on Brief. Coworkers stop in to say hello, nice weekend? etc. Give them the Crazy Eyeballs. They run in fear; cowering occurs.
12:30: Dad takes self to lunch. This is the high point of the day.
12:46: Oooh, lunch is good. LOVE lunch.
1:30: Take Dad to airport. To counteract possible airport-related terrorism, you can no longer drop someone off right outside of the Atlanta airport, OH NO, there is now this odd drop-off system thing going on in the former parking lot, and there is SUCH CONFUSION, and this is where I begin to become: befuddled.
1:34: Drop off Dad. Befuddlement becomes symptomatic.
1:37: Attempt to leave airport. OH, IT SOUNDS SO EASY.
1:39: Heh. Know what I did? I missed the turny thing that takes you out and to the highway. Hee! I'm trapped in the airport! Oh, well, I guess I'll just go in a circle then, and soon I will be out.
1:47: Wait, I...SHIT, I missed it again. DAMMIT. I am an idiot. Okay. I need to go around the cirle-y thing again. This time I get off where the...hey, I just said "get off." Ha! I'm funny.
1:55: OH MY GOD I MISSED IT AGAIN.
2:06: ALRIGHT. I'm OUT of the airport, and I'm on the highway. GOOD. Now I need to just get back downtown, to the exit I always take, though usually I am coming from the other direction.
2:17: Where's the...exit? This is the region where I get off, usually, but...hey, I said it again! "Get off." Heeeeee. Oh! Good song on the radio!
2:23: Wait. SHIT. There went the place I usually go. Huh. Why is there no exit from this direction?
2:25:...because there is no exit from that direction. FUCK. Okay, now I have to exit elsewhere and work myself back through the city.
(Have we talked about my sense of direction? HA HA HA)
2:26 - 3:49: Ridiculously lost. Ridiculously lost. Atlanta is not big enough for me to have been so lost.
3:50: Return to office. I am hysterical. EVERYONE is looking for me.
3:51: Ignore phone. Work on brief.
4:50: Still working on brief.
5:50: STILL working on brief.
8:50: BRIEF! BRIEF! Dinner.
9:15: Arby's drive-thru. WHATEVER. I will be up all night. If you are going to be up working all night, you get curly fries. It is a law. It is IN THE BIBLE.
9:17: Finish curly fries. Still starving slap to death. Think anticipaty-happy thoughts about sandwich. Mmm. Sandwich!
9:30: Arrive home. Set food on coffee table. Free dogs.
9:31: Open door, and am immediately DIVE BOMBED from above by winged insect (turns out to be a grasshopper) that lands deep in hair of self. Self FREAKS.
9:32: Dogs freak accordingly.
9:32: Grasshopper kind of freaks, in insect-y way.
9:33: Puglsey pees on floor in sheer terror.
9:33: Self slips in pee while trying to disengage grasshopper. Toppling. Bruising. Elbow destroyed forever.
9:33: Bo takes advantage of grasshopper-related confusion/freakage/toppling to run to coffee table AND STEAL SANDWICH THAT BELONGS TO SELF AND THAT SELF PAID FOR AND THAT BO DID NOT PAY FOR.
9:34: Self releases grasshopper from hair, and into wilds of back yard. Meanwhile, Bo calmly finishes last of sandwich.
9:35: Must clean up pee. Paper towels. Finish off roll. It has been a long day.
9:37: Self returns to dinner. But dinner is...gone. Bo is licking his chops and looking at Self like, What? BO HUNGRY.
9:36: Self considers crying. Instead Self plugs in work laptop to continue working on brief for the rest of the night, hollowly realizing that because Self has been too busy to shop, there is officially No Food in the house, so, no dinner. Self is beginning to feel veeeeeeery sorry for self.
10:15: Brief. Work through it, self! (Elbow kind of hurts.)
11:04: BriefBRIEFBRIEFBRIEFBRIEFBRIEFBRSelf needs break. Poor elbow. Elbow is starving, but no food, so, TV.
11:05: Self turns on TV. To...HBO. The last channel Self watched last night...
11:05: ...just in time to see the end of Six Feet Under Season Finale. Again.
And that? That right there? Is when I decided to GO TO BED. Now, logically, I know people have worse days ALL THE TIME. That there are people who are sick, or who can't feed their kids, and I know that this, in the long run, is small and silly and petty and ridiculous. But y'all, I am just BEAT.
Good night, everyone, and I wish, for all of us, that tomorrow will be a better fucking day.
Or, at the very least, I hope it is a day that involves a lot less paper towels.