What Fresh Hell Today

Oh come now, I say that with a grin. Because I could be swallowed in a sink hole by noon and it would still probably be easier than yesterday. This post is being stamped with a series of unfortunate events label. A Mondayest Monday of all Mondays label. 

I woke up on the first workday of the new year happy to not be busting my ass to make the train. In my 12+ years of train riding, many a triumphantly intentioned return to work day post holiday or vacation has been torpedoed by a train that was broken down or some other fuckery, putting me behind the eight-ball which is where no one plans to position themselves, especially on the first day back to work after many days off. 

So yesterday, no commute on the train. I used my commuting time to read in bed and it was fucking glorious. I sent MFD and his Morning Joe watching ass upstairs and enjoyed the quiet, eventually pouring my coffee and about to sit down to work when I heard thundering up the steps into the house. What the hell.

It was the guys arriving to install the windows. After so many months of waiting and one false start two weeks before Christmas. They were back! With all the materials to completely rebuild the rotted sills and trim. Yay! 

Except they were not expected. With everyone in and out over the holidays, I never got a notification from the office. 

We scrambled to get our shit that we needed for the day out of the house. I was planning to head back to Philly at night to do laundry and some other shit. I had no meetings, so flexing my day to start and end later was happening. No big deal! I'm a woman on the move. I handle changes of plans effortlessly. I threw my work computer and two things into a bag, got the four dogs in the car, and left. Neither of the things I threw into a bag was a phone or kindle charger, but I digress. 

When I pulled up in front of the Philly house the entire front portion of the fence was down on the ground. Fabulous. Fine, I will just prop it up. I ushered the dogs in the front door and slip sliding around in the mud in my new sneakers, wrestled it back up so I could let the dogs into the yard. I stepped inside to Gus shitting all over the house, which is infinitely better than my car, but still.

Whew! I finally settled in the basement to work and make phone calls to set up fence estimators to come out this week.  

While I was doing that, I did a few loads of laundry, which is the best perk of working from home when I'm in Philly. Constantly cycling laundry when I get up to walk around to make sure blood is still moving. On the third load the washer leaked its entire drum of water out the bottom, which is typically a death knell. I called more repair people. The water? I fucking left it. MFD could come home and wet/dry vac that, which he did. 

The work day ended. I pulled frozen veggie meat sauce out of the freezer and had a spaghetti comfort meal. MFD went to a funeral. I let the dogs out and went to the bathroom and heard barking out front that sounded like Ben. But he was out back.

Except he wasn't. I tore out the back door calling his name and saw Bruce frantically pacing at the front fence, which Ben had slipped under. I emerged out front onto our busy street to see a pizza delivery man pulling over and a woman with a dog across the street who Ben was barking down. I stood in the middle of the street in my socks asking her not to move, stopping traffic. I said his name and he snapped out of it and ran back over to me with zero regard for the cars or fucking chaos he caused. I was looking at him at one point and everything seemed frozen around me and I thought fuck, this is where my dog gets run over right as we're looking at each other. I have been a stranger trying to help in that situation and always felt like I really didn't do anything aside from stand there but man, I am so happy the people came out of cars and stopped walks to stand there so we could get my dog back inside. 

It took me several hours to wind down from that. 

Several hours. Several false alarms of heart attacks. 

Today, Tuesday, which is my least favorite day of the week, but it already started out better. The first fence estimator was here before 8:30. Another is scheduled to come at four. I have groceries being delivered. All dogs are inside and accounted for. Work has already been completed. I finished another book last night. 

Now we just need the president and his supporters to not use any more mafia tactics in an effort to subvert the will of the American people, and today, the people of Georgia. 

Just a small ask. 

A Comedy of errors

If you need a detailer in the Philly area, Chris from Hunter's Finish Line is the man for you. I am happy to pass along his info, he finished the clean up and got it back to looking how I never dreamed it would look again. 

I've had good practice admitting defeat lately as I have been involved in a series of unfortunate events that have me throwing in the towel at the end of the day, secure in the knowledge that a new day dawns tomorrow. Admitting defeat allows me to test if the resilience I pride myself on is still intact. 

Between the paint fuckery in my car last Wednesday (entirely my fault, I still shiver when I think about it), two sort of broken toilets and one actually cracked toilet at the shore this weekend that may or may not have leaked into our efficiency apartment (I'll find out the extent of the damage this weekend, no one's fault), and a 12 day old new storm door ripped out of the frame on the porch down there (probably someone's fault), I've been putting out fires like a fucking boss. 

When a series of small shitstorms happens in quick succession and it begins to feel like a larger problem, I don't ask why can't I catch a break because I've caught a million breaks in my life and I don't need or deserve one right now because it's all still small shit. Throwing pity parties is so not my style either, because I fucking hate pity parties especially when I'm the hostess and sole attendee. It feels self indulgent and boring. I do throw a mean tantrum though...which is also self indulgent but rarely boring, hahaha. In the grand scheme of things these are mosquitos on the skin of life.

The first thing I do is deal with it because the only way through it is through it. I do what I can to put the fire out or call who I need to call to fix it. The second thing I do is find the humor because honestly my first instinct is never cry - it's always laugh - unless I am stuck somewhere in a travel related hell. The third thing I do is try to spin it funny. If I am dealing with some pain in the ass thing, I can at least attempt to entertain others with the tale. So when I share a WTF/ugh moment, never feel bad laughing at me. Life is messy and messy is good material for laughs. 

I don't think I'll be able to top the fact that I drove home from Pier 1 with green dog poop bags on my hands after the paint incident for quite a while. That mess will live in infamy. Thank God for dogs. And the fact that they need us to carry bags for their poop.

Linking up with Kristen & Gretch