It feels like forever since I last complained . . . I mean wrote. It’s more than likely due to the insane demands of my “new life”. Yes, it’s very rough getting up in the morning and driving to work. I know what you’re thinking “build a bridge and get over it ya damn whiny twit” Ok, maybe not that harsh, but you’re thinking something similar. Or maybe you’re thinking, “at least you have a job”. But before I begin to analyze these pretend conversations that I think you all are having with yourselves, let me just explain something to you. I – can’t – stand – stupid – people. That’s it, in a nutshell. I’m not making reference to my “new life” as a complaint about work, I’m calling it my “new life” because it has required an absurd amount of energy and focus to organize my friggen day and refrain from stealing my son’s pellet gun and start aimlessly shooting at random dumb asses along the way!
A typical busy day (3 weeks ago) involved, job searching, fielding bullshit phone calls from “India R Us”, entertaining my 9 year old, planning dinner (macaroni and cheese is so versatile!) and of course, pretending to run. Now? Now I run around like a striped-ass monkey trying to figure out how “working mom’s” (with extremely short tempers) do it. I’m finding that the littlest of things irritate me (big surprise I know). My typical morning is spent flying out of bed, realizing that my alarm clock set on the “super annoying” setting didn’t wake me up out of my coma. Then realizing I only have time for a man shower (a.k.a. no shaving of legs involved) which then sets me into a tailspin because the outfit I spent 2 hours the night before picking out, won’t work because of the subtle stubble on my legs; and therefore I am now forced to have a minor “freak out” moment and throw on the 1 of 2 pairs of pants I own (that fit). In addition to this lack of time, 5 times out of 7, I’ve forgotten to pack my lunch the night before and failed to prep my coffee pot, so I’m forced to microwave coffee from the day previous and throw together a mish-mash of items for lunch. Of course come lunch-time at work I often find myself regretting the previous nights brain fart, as I have only managed to pack a pop-tart, a Tupperware container of peanut butter and a spoon.
As if that wasn’t enough to set me off, I spend 22 minutes of my morning trying to figure out why drivers cannot understand the basics of 4-way stops and staying in their lanes! Oh, and solid yellow lines do NOT mean pass at your leisure, then realize you can’t pass, so you flip me off instead…what?? Yes, it’s happened. TWICE! Work is work. I enjoy it, the people I work with are fun, the work is fun, and the overall atmosphere is great (I know I sound like an infomercial).
By the time 5 o’clock has hit, I’m starving, lacking energy and dreading the 45-minute drive to Wal-Mart (because doing my grocery shopping on a weekend is just crazy talk). And while we’re on the subject of Wal-Mart, is there some ‘code’ that states if you are in a hurry you will be subject to have your patience tested at maximum capacity? What is the point of a “20 items or less” lane if the stupid person in front of you thinks that “buy one get one free” on Hostess Twinkies counts as ONE item? But of course the checker is oblivious to the number of items because she is too busy yacking it up with the other checker about her date with “Greg” – yes, I caught his name and he doesn’t like eating at Applebee’s either. Great! I’ll sleep much better tonight knowing this. So “Hostess Twinkie” boy is filling his cart up and in a pathetic attempt at flirting begins to tell ‘Chatty Cathy the Checker’ that he thinks she is too good for Greg. Really? I just want my beer and my milk please. That’s it – where’s my pellet gun? And as “Twinkie boy” is taking his sweet mary-jane time placing his bags strategically in his cart he feels the need to comment on me being carded for my beer. [Twinkie boy] “Shoot you look old enough to be my Mom” (chuckle, chuckle). [Me] “Wow, and they let you out without your helmet?” (Hence my earlier comment about short tempers).
All this being said, I have got to find a way to unwind and re-evaluate my “to-do” list. By the time I get home I’m pissed off, fed up, cranky and starving and the last thing I want to do is cook dinner and workout. My runs (or lack thereof) have dwindled down to 1 in the last week and a half.
My “new life” needs serious help in the organization and stress-free department.