Today was, quite frankly, without exaggeration, one of the worst days I've had in months.
Most of this isn't my own personal tragedy, so I want to preface all of this by saying that.
But first and worst, my best friend lost her father today. He was a wonderful man...one of the best. There are no words to say beyond that.
So I bought a ticket to go back to Iowa, leaving Thursday, coming back Tuesday. This wasn't in my plan for the weekend, but I'm so lucky that I have the flexibility to do this (this would be a perfect place to say #blessed, but I'm a cynical bitch and that's not really my style). So you're all about to get a bonus round of #smalltownlife, but it's going to be a rather somber version (#sorrynotsorry).
The rest of my day pales in comparison to that, but it's easier to be angry about less consequential things, so I'm going to focus my rage on other annoyances and ignore my grief for now. Even if that hadn't happened, today would have been awful enough on its own. I woke up early, but was stressed about what I had to do today, and so I got nothing done this morning despite staring at the screen and pretending to write.
I won't go into detail about what I had to do today, since a lot of it isn't my story to tell, but suffice it to say that it involved supervising movers who were packing up the things of a friend who is in the middle of getting divorced, which also involved dealing with her ex. The tattoo artist from my epic adventure in July was there to provide masculine backup (although he mostly just drank whisky); another acquaintance was there to assist (but we left to grab coffee and then she went home after); and because the movers were way behind schedule and we were way ahead of schedule in arriving, this ended up taking seven fucking hours. Seven...fucking...hours. My own move didn't take that long, and it didn't involve listening to the ex while also texting the friend, while also taking a break to find out that one of the best men from your childhood had just passed away.
Sooooooo. This was all way too dramatic and way too sad and way too annoying and way too awful. When the movers were finally done, I made it all of half a block before stopping in at the first fancy place where I could eat a fancy cheeseburger and drink two glasses of wine - I usually try not to self-medicate, but I gave myself a pass tonight. Then I walked home, and now I'm pretty sure I'm coming down with a cold. So I'm going to take my frustrated, self-pitying, slightly-drunk self to bed and hope that I can sleep for nine hours and stave off this cold before waking up tomorrow and writing/cleaning/packing/not-crying in preparation for my flight.
Tanks for listening, internet friends...you're the best. Goodnight!
Most of this isn't my own personal tragedy, so I want to preface all of this by saying that.
But first and worst, my best friend lost her father today. He was a wonderful man...one of the best. There are no words to say beyond that.
So I bought a ticket to go back to Iowa, leaving Thursday, coming back Tuesday. This wasn't in my plan for the weekend, but I'm so lucky that I have the flexibility to do this (this would be a perfect place to say #blessed, but I'm a cynical bitch and that's not really my style). So you're all about to get a bonus round of #smalltownlife, but it's going to be a rather somber version (#sorrynotsorry).
The rest of my day pales in comparison to that, but it's easier to be angry about less consequential things, so I'm going to focus my rage on other annoyances and ignore my grief for now. Even if that hadn't happened, today would have been awful enough on its own. I woke up early, but was stressed about what I had to do today, and so I got nothing done this morning despite staring at the screen and pretending to write.
I won't go into detail about what I had to do today, since a lot of it isn't my story to tell, but suffice it to say that it involved supervising movers who were packing up the things of a friend who is in the middle of getting divorced, which also involved dealing with her ex. The tattoo artist from my epic adventure in July was there to provide masculine backup (although he mostly just drank whisky); another acquaintance was there to assist (but we left to grab coffee and then she went home after); and because the movers were way behind schedule and we were way ahead of schedule in arriving, this ended up taking seven fucking hours. Seven...fucking...hours. My own move didn't take that long, and it didn't involve listening to the ex while also texting the friend, while also taking a break to find out that one of the best men from your childhood had just passed away.
Sooooooo. This was all way too dramatic and way too sad and way too annoying and way too awful. When the movers were finally done, I made it all of half a block before stopping in at the first fancy place where I could eat a fancy cheeseburger and drink two glasses of wine - I usually try not to self-medicate, but I gave myself a pass tonight. Then I walked home, and now I'm pretty sure I'm coming down with a cold. So I'm going to take my frustrated, self-pitying, slightly-drunk self to bed and hope that I can sleep for nine hours and stave off this cold before waking up tomorrow and writing/cleaning/packing/not-crying in preparation for my flight.
Tanks for listening, internet friends...you're the best. Goodnight!
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