|Job was a Pantywaist
||[Nov. 19th, 2009|03:51 pm]
I know, you are SO sick of me pissing and moaning about how damn hard things are. How Bad Luck follows me like a flock of obsessive velcro ducklings. |
Tough toenails. Move along if you've got better things to do. But if you want the next installment of
You can probably just imagine the hysteria of trying to get everything done last week -- at work, at home -- in order to be able to leave early enough on Friday to beat the 95 South traffic. (Which, if you're not familiar with, is the Grande Suck. From Springfield, VA to Richmond, VA, beginning just after noon on Fridays a giant crawling, winding, handicapped slug of traffic, just hoping an accident will help it slow down the pace.)
Mind you, we STILL haven't put away Maryland Faire props/equipment completely. Still haven't put away Halloween completely. Wallowing in squalor is a catchy phrase, but when it actually, with not a shred of exaggeration, explains how you're living...plus five contracts due at the end of the year which will take a miracle AND 60 hours a week to finish, plus a car that once again decided it needed major repairs right before a major drive....
Stressball doesn't even begin. I was a Stress Boulder.
Especially after getting to work at 6am, ready to knock off three projects so that I could leave by 9am, and we could be on the road by 11am at the very latest. Except that there was 3 hours of has-to-be-done-today work waiting on my chair. Okay, okay, so now I'm an hour late heading home, and I'm going to have to work in the car on the way down, okay, fine.
Except when I go to drop off the rental car and then walk to the carplace to pick up my car which I love but cost me $800 to make driveable, again, the rental office is closed with a sign that says "back in 15 minutes". So, I fume and wait. And then I get to the place I HATE. Now that I've invested 20 minutes, do I keep waiting? Or go get the Captain, pick up the car so he can start loading it while I go back to try the rental car return again. If I leave, the rental people will pull in 30 seconds after I go. If I stay, I am BURNING TIME I REALLY NEED TO USE PACKING.
Oh, yeah, did I mention that sometime the previous afternoon, in running ten thousand errands (Death of Ten Thousand Errands...that's MY idea of torture) I managed to lose my cell phone. So I couldn't call the Captain. If I could, I would have found out that he too, was up to his eyeballs in extra work and wasn't ready to pack the car and we were going to be late but at least it wasn't MY fault.
So, picked up the Captain, discovered the unjoyful lateness that was going to be our trip start, ransomed the car, called the car rental place who said I could just leave the rental there at the garage -- tiny joy!
Head pack and a couple of hours later, we are ready to go. Naturally, it has poured rain the entire time we packed the car. So, we are soaking wet and crabby, but the car is all packed, Percy inside ensconced on his pile of beds and blankets. So, we go in to get the last few things.
And come out to a stench I can smell as I get close to the car. Percy, slammed with a big case of nerves, has had explosive diarrhea all over the inside of the car. Over the two beds, one for faire/one for hotel. Over the blankets and fabrics and coats and....all over him, since the poor thing tried to "bury" it.
I believe I actually wailed. I think I pranced on my two feet in the pouring rain like some kind of giant demented dwarf, waving my arms in ineffectual tyrannosaurus fashion, while making a high pitched keening sound that made humpback whales all over the world's ocean think "Oh, shit. THAT's not good."
But I'm a WASP and suddenly realized I was in public, which is no place for nervous breakdown, especially if you're not holding a gin and tonic. Besides, waving tiny Tyrannosaurus arms never helped the dinosaurs and it sure as hell wasn't going to fix THIS mess either.
So, (again, in the pouring rain), we emptied the car, I washed the dog outside...in the rain...the Geezerdog who is now freezing and whimpering...while the Captain tosses anything polluted into the basement to be dealt with on our return. And I hustle Geezerdog into the house and dry him off and crank up the heat while I run around pulling blankets and throws and anything that can be put into service as a dog bed for the weekend. And we run out to put THAT all in the car.
And come back inside to discover that Geezerdog has now decorated the living room with the Big D. Because he was scared. Which was not only gross, and horrible, but also made me feel like a BAD MOTHER.
Oh, did I mention that we were out of paper towels? And had just pressed the "clean-up" towels into service as dog bed replacements?
But, as always, we press on. So, we left late. So, we sat in a lot of traffic. So, we missed the planned dinner with old friends. So, we get to the hotel, not in time to relax, chill, get a little work done, maybe a nap...no, we get there in time to get everything settled and then to pass out into a fitful sleep, leaping up everytime Geezerdog twitched, in case it was another incident. Here's where I thank the folks at McNeil for Immodium. Really.
On the positive front, there were no more incidents from Geezerdog. He really seemed to enjoy himself -- and since realistically, this could well have been his last show, which is sort of sad, I'm glad we did it. And I missed out on yet another dinner with friends because I had to stay in and get my work done (one item of which was my year-end evaluation self-assessment. I thank Fetch for loaning me the good sense to not simply type "I suck" and insead fill it out properly) but the weather was gorgeous and it was the LAST SHOW OF THE SEASON.
Now, two months to lead a simulacrum of a normal life before it all starts again. No locusts, please.