You call this a Friday?

April 20, 2007

It has been a bad week. For some people, it’s been much worse than that, and it seems strange to be complaining about the things I am about to complain about in light of them. And yet. If you check out the last couple of posts, you can see I’ve been making a concerted mental effort to stay positive, or at least hopeful, about the future. This is more difficult than usual because D no longer has a job, and that makes me scared shitless. Not to mention angry at the boss who did that to us. (Yes, I know, that sentence construction implies malice on her part, when it was really just business, but I am so not into capitalism right now.) So I’ve been a 130 pound pinball this week trying to land on the side of all things yoga and hope and possibility, but more often getting my ass shot back towards the stratosphere by the paddle of anxiety, anger, and depression. Ugh.

So maybe, mid-parabola, I was hoping that this streak of shit for luck couldn’t really continue, and that I would wake up this morning with at least the prospect of attending the last poco class of the semester to cheer me up.  That I would land on the paddle of peace, truth, and getting papers done. Well.

My cats had other ideas. First, they started waking me up at 4am to get fed. They are hungry all the time now that they are on the anti-obesity diet. I was having none of this, and perhaps I did get a bit violent the twelfth time Christmas put a claw in my face and perhaps I threw her off a bit more harshly than normal. Well, either she or Rice got her own back by peeing on the couch. This with a clean litter box. I understand when the litter box is awful, but my feeling is that this was revenge. D discovered the big wet spot and commenced stripping the cushion cover without even waking me up. I do love that man. Unfortunately, the pee did make it into the cushion part and onto one of our big throw pillows that dates back to one of our first apartment shopping trips. We shall see if the magical potion that his mom uses to clean the occasional peed on mattress can work for our couch and our pillow.

So after indulging in a little bit of bed-wallowing depression, I got my butt out of bed and dressed to hit up the treadmill. I’m just about to step on the belt when I realize that something feels off about my Nike Air Pegasi… oh yes, the bottom layer of waffled sole has detached itself from my left shoe. No treadmill for me, although I do grab the discman and hit the pavement. Which is hot and sticky even at 9am on a relatively cool day, but running is one area where anger comes in handy and I blow my workout goals right out of the water with my fury. (Just for the record, my “workout goals” include such things as running a mile in 10 minutes… down from my natural 12… so be aware that saying I met my goals isn’t meant to signify any great accomplishment).

So I get back to the apartment, shower, chow some cereal, and decide that instead of giving in to the looming image of the peed on couch as it beckons me back to glumness, I take the postcolonial research show on the road and set up on the patio. In the process, I manage to make a 10-deep pile of such books fall directly on my head, but with my runner’s high I am only vaguely annoyed by this and soldier on. I’ve got everything on the patio, books out, notebook open, black pen in hand… when I notice that the upper right hand corner of our sliding door has become a home for skinny black creatures who live in a paper house. Wasps. Oh yes. Wasps. So add wasp killer to the Kmart shopping list, right next to the cat pee smell killer.

See? My day is just that good. I should just stop trying, but my poco prof has other ideas, so I am going to get back to that and hope for the best. Hopey hope hope hope.

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