Wednesday, January 29, 2014

The Horrible No Good Day

Donna smiled on the outside, but only because she didn't have the heart to tell Bob she'd gotten so tired of laundry, she'd set his boxers on fire.
Afternoon Readers,

I've been blessed to know many honorable people in my time, who, when times get tough, shoulder the burden, keep their chin up, and let the experience improve both character and outlook. They don't complain, and choose instead to smile all the way through whatever sinkhole life has dropped them into.

I admire them.

I appreciate them.

I am not one of those people.

Instead, I tend to do a turn on the happiness spectrum and veer sharply towards the comforting realm of weeping uncontrollably. And, while I'm not one to grin and bear it, I'm happy to say that blowing minor inconveniences out of proportion doesn't effect my efficiency one bit. When historians pen a brief flyer about my life, they'll no doubt say, "She was overly-dramatic, but she got the most bang for her buck."

To make sure I was hitting all the major points of feeling sorry for myself, yesterday was one of those days I needed to bring out the old checklist, :
  • Cry hysterically
  • Rend own garments
  • Bemoan existance
  • Reaffirm I am the only one with problems
  • Make sure problems are fairly inconsequential, so the room to blow them out of proportion is spacious enough
  • Don't go outside. Other people might be out there. They might have problems.
  • Don't brush, wash, or style hair. Looking homeless will make me feel homeless, which will make above bullet points more convincing.
Yep, efficiency. You haven't seen someone feel sorry for themselves, until you've seen Paige Kellerman feel sorry for herself. Nope, you seriously haven't. I'm the Jay Gatsby of pity parties.

But what went so wrong? you ask. Things, that's what. Isn't it always the things? I started the day by being flabbergasted at how, when we spend money, the amount in our account goes down. I played Bill Roulette and lost.

What's Bill Roulette? I apologize. It's when you send three checks at the same time and say the phrase, "They probably won't cash it until -insert date-." It's terribly exciting. In some circles, it's known as "The high stakes game for people who have no stakes."

After that, the kids demanded to be fed three times yesterday. Three times!

And then I realized that we have to get the Split level ready to sell.

Shortly after that, the baby kept pooping.

Things took a turn for the worse when the laundry had to be put in the dryer. The gall. I'm about ready to take both machines and throw them into a canyon. Some people in this world have to take their clothes down to a river and beat them on a rock. And you know what I think of that? Jealous.

Critical mass was reached about the time I heard a huge crash come from the twins' room.

"What was that?"

"Um, we ripped the big shelf out of the closet."

"The shelf that held literally everything in your closet? The one that also support the hanging things and the socks and the underwear and all of your other items of clothing?"


I pulled out my list. "Hmm, says here I should start crying hysterically. Sounds good."

And so I did. After which, I nailed everything, with reckless abandon, back into the wall. It should hold until next week. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm not very good at carpentry, but I'm excellent at forgetting to change the laundry over. Yep, we'll go with that.

Until Next Time, Readers!

Until Next Time, Readers!