Mama Said There'd Be Days Like This

What mama didn't say was that there would be weeks like this.  I speak with hesitance because it is not yet Friday at 5pm, so I am running the risk of this black cloud over my head lingering for another day or two.

 

Let's start with Sunday.  My husband was making meatballs for himself for dinner and I hadn't helped him at all.  Since he is recovering from foot surgery, while the meatballs baked, he sat on the couch with his foot propped like the doctor had ordered.  When the oven dinged, I decided to do my best Wife of the Year impression and plate his dinner and bring it to him.  Being 5'1, I didn't have far to bend down to remove the steaming hot meatballs from the oven.  How did I know they were steaming?  Because I stuck my face thisclose to the pan as I pulled it out of the 400* cooking box, and was immediately pelted with hot, stinging, flesh burning steam.  And in a move of further brilliance, I promptly put an ice cube on my burnt face to numb the pain.  Which it did, as it also created a bright red blister.  ON. MY. FACE!

 

When I awoke on Monday, I briefly forgot about the meatball war wound from the night before until I caught a glimpse of it in the mirror as I ran to the bathroom for a tissue to try to stop the massive amount of snot running out of my nose. If it was just a face blister, or just a runny nose, I could deal.  But somewhere along the way, I also picked up some sort of virus that caused one eye to swell, water uncontrollably, twitch, and fill with goop.  I'm a fundraiser by trade and therefore rely on working with the public and being charming and put together enough to sell them on writing checks to my organization with multiple zeroes in them.  You don't charm too many checkbooks by sucking up your snot in an attempt to give your chapped, Rudolph impersonating nose a break while also sporting a closed-from-mucus eyeball and a face blister.

 

Tuesday saw me armed with concealer, antihistamine, and tissues, and cowered in fear.  And by 'cowered', I mean attacked in full force.  After having a complete meltdown on the way out of the house because the living room was dirty, I declared that I was going to have a better day. I drove to work, where I received word that I had 1900 pieces of mail to get out of a co-worker's car and shipped to my volunteers in another town within the hour, or I would have to fold, stuff, seal, and stamp them myself.  The co-worker and I went to her car to load up and bring the letters inside, where we were greeted by our ever persistent protestors holding disgusting signs and screaming sexual slurs in between quoting Bible verses and telling me that I need to get to know Jesus (if I wouldn't get fired for responding to them, I would LOVE to tell them all about Jesus and how I'm certain He doesn't condone their sick actions).  Awesome.  Back in my office with the sea of bulk mail and the clock ticking, I sorted the letters and logged into my database to get the lead stuffing volunteer's mailing address.  I wrote her address on a post-it  and stuck it on the top box, loaded up the minimum of 40 pounds of boxes onto my weak girly arms, grabbed my purse, and navigated my way through 3 badge pass doors. The moment I stepped outside, I was welcomed by 28* weather and 35mph wind as I watched that sacred post-it with the all important address tumble and toss on the breeze through the parking lot.  I rushed to my car, set the boxes down on the hood and ensued on a seemingly hopeless mission to catch that neon pink office supply with confidential donor information on it.  Oh and did I mention that I forgot my coat at home?  No less than 7,000 goosebumps and 5 failed grab attempts later, I found myself 23 parking spots away from my car, clinging onto that sweet, sweet post-it.  I breathed a sigh of relief, composed myself, walked back to my car, and tucked the address safely inside one of the boxes.  After digging through my purse for my keys, I hit the unlock button and tried to get into my Jeep.  Hmmm, it didn't work. I tried it again, and again, it didn't work, so I decided I would open the door the old fashioned way and put the ignition key into the door key slot.  It fit, but it wouldn't turn left or right.  I removed the key and tried the sequence again with the same result.  So I abandoned that idea and tried the backseat door.  Locked.  Passenger front?  Locked.  Passenger rear?  Locked.  Trunk door that I was prepared to climb through?  Locked.  Freezing, defeated, out of breath, and arms scraped from the boxes, I collected all 40 pounds of them and walked them inside where, through tears, I asked another co-worker to keep an eye on them while I tried to break into my car one last time before calling a locksmith.  They agreed, and I ran out the door, set my eyes on my car, and immediately turned back inside and grabbed my boxes of letters.  Still standing where I had left her 15 seconds before, my co-worker looked at me puzzled until I responded with, 'That's not my car!  Mine is 2 spaces over...' Try walking out the door with dignity after that whole display was caught on 4 different security cameras.

 

After some more tears and a much needed lunch with my sweet husband who can make even the worst day better, I had a pretty quiet day on Wednesday and thought that my run of bad luck was winding down right along with the cold I was starting to beat.  And then it was bed time.  It has come to my attention that I am a snorer, and seeing as how I have never been able to breathe well through my nose, I decided it was time to try some breathe-right strips.  After my nightly bath, I adorned my nose with one of the ever so attractive strips, kissed my husband, and went to bed.  What seemed like hours had passed and I found myself in a terrible nightmare.  A bad guy had shot his way through my place of work, killing all of my co-workers and looking for me as I hid under a desk in the tiniest ball I could get myself into.  I could hear his footsteps.  Closer.  Closer.  Closer.  And then he GRABBED me!!!!  I screamed and karate chopped him with all my might, and then I could hear a distant voice saying 'It's okay!  It's okay!  You're okay.'  I opened my eyes to see that it was my husband who was soothing me, and it was my husband who I had just karate chopped in my sleep.  When I have nightmares, he says my breathing gets very heavy and erratic, and during this particular nightmare he said that I started to hold my breath in between the gasps so he had put his hand on my chest to make sure I was still breathing, and my subconscious thought he was a murderer who needed to be chopped in half and screamed at.  I'm lucky to have a partner who not only makes sure I'm still alive in the middle of the night, but one who also comforts me after I attack him for doing so.  It took me a long while to settle down after that, and my sleep the rest of the night was minimal.

 

So that brings me to today.  Still tormented by a face blister, too much snot in my nose, scrapes from the bulk mail I had to carry way too many times, and the latest and greatest - a giant bruise on my nose from the breathe-right strips and a guilty conscience from abusing my husband in my sleep. 

 

Tomorrow HAS to be better, right?  Right??  RIGHT?!!!