This Monday started off with an hour-long traffic jam on 291. Actually, no. This Monday started off with my alarm repeatedly going off and me not wanting to get up, then blindly swinging at my alarm clock trying to get it to stop flashing, which woke up Miss Molly, my under-the-covers sleeper, who celebrated the morning by stepping right on my face and scratching me. Good freakin morning.
I almost walked out to leave for work in my slippers again, forgot to stop at the mailbox to leave my Netflix movie to be returned, then made my way onto the highway where I realized that I was almost out of gas. I did a quick calculation of how far have I gone, minus how far do I have to go, minus how much gas do you think we used sitting in Big E traffic on Friday, which equals I stop to get gas before switching highways. Thankfully I did, because no sooner had I gotten on 291 when traffic came to a horrible stop. Three miles I moved… in one HOUR. I finally made it to work where, pretty much, my desk exploded in my lap while the phone rang non-stop, and I desperately returned emails and made lists before I forgot anything I was supposed to be doing.
I left work two hours later than usual and headed exactly where you should NOT go after a frustrating day of puppy scratches, lousy work, and frustrated exhaustion: the grocery store. But even better, my first stop was Sam’s Club to quickly pay my bill, buy a mega-sized bottle of Advil and leave. Was it that easy? Are you kidding? For some unknown reason, the all-powerful cash register, controller of my destiny, could not read the numbers printed on my check. The clerk fed the check into the machine, oh, about a hundred times. It kept spitting it out, she kept reinserting it. I kept trying to breathe deeply and think non-homicidal thoughts. I suggested trying another register. Nope. I suggested there must be a way around this, perhaps she could key in the numbers. Nope. She handed my check back and said, don’t you have cash? Um… WHAT? Don’t you have customer service skills? After another several minutes of banging my head on the counter, I suggested that I try another check to see if that might help. By golly, what a good idea. I should get a manager’s salary for that 30 minutes I wasted telling the clerk how to handle her situation.
Sometimes days like today feel like a thick, heavy coat that I’m dragging around on my back. Each new thing that goes wrong just adds to the weight of the coat until I don’t think I can drag it around anymore. Then I get home and I shrug off the coat, I sit outside and watch the stars and snuggle my puppy and I think I just might be able to try it again tomorrow. But this time I’m setting my alarm a half hour later.