And so it goes…

My definition of “slept like the dead” is when I fall asleep in a certain position, like.. on my back with my hands on my chest, usually gripping my little beanie bear. Then, when I wake up to the sound of JT’s alarm I realize I am still in that exact position, bear still in hand–the best indicator that I haven’t tossed and turned.

Last night was one of those nights. Those also usually mean it felt like I blinked and woke up, so I don’t actually feel rested. It’s anxiety, I know, mostly about hearing what the denist wants to do about my wisdom teeth today. The nurse already told me that he’d probably just refer me to an oral surgeon, and just hearing her say that…… ugh.

I’m being critiqued the hell out of for the special, last minute project work I did on Monday, and I’m very angry. A quick call on a Friday at 5pm is not enough explanation of what you want done for so massive a project, apparently. I told them I’d try one and see how it went, to which they replied… well, we’re under the gun and need you to do the first 10…. by end of day Monday. So, could you work on the weekend on this?

So, I didn’t post it yet, but Monday was a super-shitty day. Other than listening to JT’s response of “it’s my day off” whenever I suggested he do something, I also had that shitty project to work on. I got an angry phone call from the CEO of a company I’d emailed for information regarding that project, which I had to pass on to our legal department. Apparently our contract with them had expired, and no one had noticed until I’d contacted them that day, and now they’re pissed off that we’re still using data that we’re apparently not being billed for.

Then, I get to deal with the “Kitty vs Samuel” battle that rages in and around the boxes and crap that are piled in the dining room. I manage to mostly tune that out until I notice the distinct sound of scratching by a cat, remniscent of the scratching sound made in the litterbox after using it, but this time coming from the entirely wrong direction. I investigate to find that Samuel has shit on the carpet by the sliding glass door and is mistakenly scratching on a nearby cardboard box to “please, God, cover the stench.” I’ve been complaining our house looks like a pig-sty, but apparently to Samuel, it looks like a giant litterbox. Point taken, cat.

Then, my uber-ghei UPS, which has been primarily functioning as an oversized expensive extension cord, since it has yet to actually keep my computer on during a power outage, decides to complain with an annoying audible alarm. The power is still on. It’s beautiful outside. Things not hooked the UPS are giving no indication of a power surge… so, why is the UPS suddenly screaming at me? Of course, this happens when I have 50 windows open, copying and pasting from one place to another and am bascially full-on in the middle of shit… I have to start saving things left and right, sorting them out later, and shut down as quickly as possible so I can unplug the fucker. (That led me to forgetting to rename my primary project document for the new site I was working on and save a bunch of data over one I had already done, but that’s something I didn’t actually figure out until later.)

After I unplug, it is still beeping. Look the battery backup is good for something! After hitting every damn button I could find on the thing, it finally stops. I plug my stuff back into a plain old powerstrip and fire it back up, taking the opportunity to label the UPS with a post-it note as “Big pile of shit” so James might notice and inquire.

So, at about quarter until 6pm, I think I finally have my shitty project sorted out. After deciding I had been sitting still in this computer chair all damn day, I decide to hike up to the pool — where the boys are enjoying the day off — and see what’s up. I sit, feet dipped in the water, and tell them about my shitty day, then walk around to check the mail on the way back to the apartment. At the mailbox, I find two packages for me.

One is the package I had shipped to the wrong address, which has finally arrived in the right place, a little over 30 days later. Although it did make it here finally, it’s still a lovely reminder of shitty days I’ve had in the past.

The other is a soft shipping package, the kind that has the peel-off adhesive strip that you fold over to seal it, except for this package, that strip is still in place and it is obviously unsealed. The address label is, in fact, stamped numerous time by the post office “Received without contents” and “Received unsealed at 30338”. It looks like instead of using the strip, someone just tried to staple it closed with a single staple in the center, which managed to hold the catalog and shipping receipt inside, but my actual ordered item was quite missing. Great. Just great.

I walk back to the apartment and inform the boys that if I try to make dinner tonight that my chances of blowing up the stove and burning down the entire apartment complex was pretty high, but they decided to risk it. Of course.