Sunday, March 25, 2012
Anatomy of a Bad Day
It was one of THOSE days. Oh sure, it could've been much, much worse, but there was definitely nothing to like about it. I'd have written about it that night, but I was blinded by inner rage and tried to block Thursday's memory from my head completely.
I suppose it could've started worse--I wasn't late to work; I was groggy and muddle-headed from what I assume was being unaccustomed to the effects of melatonin, which I started taking this week trying to get better sleep (thanks Fibro). At my home branch, we probably average about 10-12 transactions per hour, maybe more like 5-6 on a super-slow day. At West Side, on this day, by 1:30pm, we had done 5. Five transactions in 4 hours. Lord have mercy on my addled brain. I took a lunch break--I'd brought leftover Chinese takeout from the night before and eagerly anticipated it. I pulled it out of the microwave and promptly knocked it over, spilling half of it on the floor. Dammit. I fought with my phone's spotty reception and terminally slow download speeds trying to look at Facebook for a little much-needed mental stimulation, but naturally, Rusty kept texting me. It's fine that he texts me, but my stupid phone forces me to reload the page I'm trying to look at if I view the text when it comes in, and if I don't view it right away, I'm very likely to forget it came in at all. So I sat there getting more and more aggravated when I felt a pop on my foot--the strap on my shoe broke. Fucky McFuckerson. I finished my lunch (quickly, since I only had half of it to eat), and decided to pop out to the store and buy something to supplement it. As I exited the back room, I joked to Evelyn that I have having a bad day, with the shoe strap breaking and lunch spillage, and man, I'm just being klutzy as heOLY FUCK I JUST SLAMMED MY FINGER IN THE DOOR! Now I don't want to be a baby--I can take some pain. Clearly, right? Or Fibro would have killed me by now. But I caught the tip of my ring finger hard in the door. My whole hand just went instant white-hot-pain. Fuck Fuckity Fucker Fuck. breathe breathe breathe FUuUUuUuuUuCK. My nail started to turn purple. *sigh* I went down to the sandwich shop and got some ice. Now this finger hurt like a beeeeeeyotch--and the longer it went on, the more pissed I got, because, while it's wrapped in ice, judging by how it felt, I imagined it must be swollen and a dark ugly reddish purple by now--then I pull it out of the ice and it looks completely normal. WTF? I don't normally bruise that easily, but come ON, I SLAMMED that door, it hurts so bad my finger should be GLOWING. Eventually I got rid of the ice. The tip was numb, and too painful to put any pressure on (i.e. typing), but not obviously swelling and barely red. At all.
I drowned my sorrows in a glass of wine when I got home. The kids were at their dad's for Spring Break, and Rusty wouldn't be home til 11:20ish, and I'd decided to wait to eat a super-late dinner so I can eat with him. I had a small snack, and then at 9pm, I got online and ordered a pizza to be delivered at 11:15pm. Perfectly timed, then I could be done eating by 11:40, hang with the Man for about 20 minutes and then get to bed at a still-decent hour, so maybe, just maybe tomorrow will be a better day. Since I skipped dinner, the wine hit me harder than I expected. At 10:30, I realized I really needed to take a shower, but I didn't want to be in a rush and I didn't want to have to answer the door for the pizza guy with wet hair/in my pajamas, especially since I was home alone. 11:15 comes and goes. WTF? 11:20, Rusty comes home. Don't flip out about the late pizza, it's no big deal, right? 11:25, no pizza. 11:30. I call the restaurant. "Oh, we're running behind, but it's out with the driver, it should be there any time now." 11:35. Fuck this, I got ready for bed. Naturally the pizza came while I was getting dressed. And one bite into it revealed it was cold. I just about lost my shit. Fuck this whole fucking day, I'm going to bed. Sorry, Rusty.
I suppose it could've started worse--I wasn't late to work; I was groggy and muddle-headed from what I assume was being unaccustomed to the effects of melatonin, which I started taking this week trying to get better sleep (thanks Fibro). At my home branch, we probably average about 10-12 transactions per hour, maybe more like 5-6 on a super-slow day. At West Side, on this day, by 1:30pm, we had done 5. Five transactions in 4 hours. Lord have mercy on my addled brain. I took a lunch break--I'd brought leftover Chinese takeout from the night before and eagerly anticipated it. I pulled it out of the microwave and promptly knocked it over, spilling half of it on the floor. Dammit. I fought with my phone's spotty reception and terminally slow download speeds trying to look at Facebook for a little much-needed mental stimulation, but naturally, Rusty kept texting me. It's fine that he texts me, but my stupid phone forces me to reload the page I'm trying to look at if I view the text when it comes in, and if I don't view it right away, I'm very likely to forget it came in at all. So I sat there getting more and more aggravated when I felt a pop on my foot--the strap on my shoe broke. Fucky McFuckerson. I finished my lunch (quickly, since I only had half of it to eat), and decided to pop out to the store and buy something to supplement it. As I exited the back room, I joked to Evelyn that I have having a bad day, with the shoe strap breaking and lunch spillage, and man, I'm just being klutzy as heOLY FUCK I JUST SLAMMED MY FINGER IN THE DOOR! Now I don't want to be a baby--I can take some pain. Clearly, right? Or Fibro would have killed me by now. But I caught the tip of my ring finger hard in the door. My whole hand just went instant white-hot-pain. Fuck Fuckity Fucker Fuck. breathe breathe breathe FUuUUuUuuUuCK. My nail started to turn purple. *sigh* I went down to the sandwich shop and got some ice. Now this finger hurt like a beeeeeeyotch--and the longer it went on, the more pissed I got, because, while it's wrapped in ice, judging by how it felt, I imagined it must be swollen and a dark ugly reddish purple by now--then I pull it out of the ice and it looks completely normal. WTF? I don't normally bruise that easily, but come ON, I SLAMMED that door, it hurts so bad my finger should be GLOWING. Eventually I got rid of the ice. The tip was numb, and too painful to put any pressure on (i.e. typing), but not obviously swelling and barely red. At all.
I drowned my sorrows in a glass of wine when I got home. The kids were at their dad's for Spring Break, and Rusty wouldn't be home til 11:20ish, and I'd decided to wait to eat a super-late dinner so I can eat with him. I had a small snack, and then at 9pm, I got online and ordered a pizza to be delivered at 11:15pm. Perfectly timed, then I could be done eating by 11:40, hang with the Man for about 20 minutes and then get to bed at a still-decent hour, so maybe, just maybe tomorrow will be a better day. Since I skipped dinner, the wine hit me harder than I expected. At 10:30, I realized I really needed to take a shower, but I didn't want to be in a rush and I didn't want to have to answer the door for the pizza guy with wet hair/in my pajamas, especially since I was home alone. 11:15 comes and goes. WTF? 11:20, Rusty comes home. Don't flip out about the late pizza, it's no big deal, right? 11:25, no pizza. 11:30. I call the restaurant. "Oh, we're running behind, but it's out with the driver, it should be there any time now." 11:35. Fuck this, I got ready for bed. Naturally the pizza came while I was getting dressed. And one bite into it revealed it was cold. I just about lost my shit. Fuck this whole fucking day, I'm going to bed. Sorry, Rusty.
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