I don’t know what it is about me. But there are these days much like today, when I just know I’m an absolute hot mess and my day has already gone to shit right from the second I blink my brown eyes.
Never mind the fact that I was running late (again) because lately, my body has somehow developed an alien-like-immunity to alarm clocks. I swear to Darwin and everything in the Galapagos that I’ve evolved from human, to sleep-walking-broken-robot-zombie that can subconsciously get up, bitch-slap the snooze button, and go right back to sleep like nothing ever happened. The enigma here is the manner in which this creature who so deviously posesses my body overnight behaves. How she so wittingly manages to snooze the alarm clock-at 5 am, 5:04 am, 5:10 am, then at 5:16 am, 5:20 am, and again at 5:23 am- without disrupting my sleep and while wiping my memory of what she’s done!
The solution: set myself up for failure by connecting this demon-clock into the furthest possible electrical socket from my bed, ensure it’s still annoyingly close enough to force the creature out of bed.
The result: failed to trick myself into failing. Stupid me…to think I wouldn’t go back to sleep? I couldn’t fool this creature. We share one mind. All the while, the creature is saying to itself (myself) “This is a set-up remember? You already knew this would happen. Don’t you worry. You just need two. more. minutes.”
So I’ve decided to be petty and install one of these baddies:
Let’s also not discuss the fact that I did not have time to brush my hair. So for the 56th time this week (how many days are there in a week again?) my head resembles a giant dead Tarantula that’s been ran over by a train, dropped into a river of mousse, crumbled up like a piece of paper, and then gently placed atop my skull.
And the fact that I can’t seem to give this self-inflicted scrape/burn spot on my chin a chance to heal, because I insist on ripping off the fucking scab and then covering it back up with make up (all the while knowing that I’m going to have a huge scar on my face when this is all done with)? All thanks to an unwelcomed colony of blackheads that decided to claim the Long Lost Land Of The Chin last week.
These intruders thought they’d just you know…settle in, raise their children, and start cropping out the fleshy land that is my chin. But I was all like “It’s on like Donkey-Kong,” when I made the poor and unadultish decision to attack them with the fatal weapons that are my fingers. Needless to say, my chin portrayed a bloody scene out of 300.
Oh but there’s more! that my keys once again, grew tiny little evil-key legs and decided it was a good time to play hide-n-seek with the morning beast. 30 minutes later worth of this:
I am sweating. Shivering. On the brinks of a psychotic meltdown. Giving up on life. And it’s not even 8 am.
When suddenly, TA-DAAA!!! There they were. The bastards. Sitting right. On. My. Kitchen. Counter. Laughing in my face. Exactly where I placed them last night.
Moving forward with my pre-fucked day, I stopped for Starbucks and ordered the usual. A Very-Berry Hibiscus with lemonade to keep me distracted for the rest of my 1.5 hour commute, and a venti nonfa Caramel Macchiato with an extra shot and 3 equals.
Except today they fucked up and gave me a GRANDE (how dare they) instead. So they re-made another one in the right size, apologized, and let me keep the grande as well. Nice! You’d so think this is a “winning” moment amiright? Yea so did I.
Now fast-forward to the part where I parked my car at work and realized, “How the fuck am I gonna carry 3 large drinks upstairs with me?” There really wasn’t a solution, so I decided to make some room inside of my oversized handbag, and gently stood 2 drinks up next to one-another and organized my CVS-stock of shit so as to provide some kind of structural support to the coffees.
Little did I know that the cosmos had already decided that TODAY would be the day to fuck with me in the form of cruel and unusual punishment. A few minutes later, as I’m saying my routine good-mornings to the mail men at the post office behind my building, I realize my pants are dripping wet on my left outer thigh area. Well that’s odd.
I stop. Hesitantly look into my handbag. And yes. There it was. Like my soul was ripped out of me, turned into liquid state, and carelessly spilled as if it were a cup of meaningless nothing. My ENTIRE coffee had tipped over inside of my purse. Coffee and my sanity, not only wasted but also, sitting in a 6 foot deep puddle (I have large handbags don’t judge) and drowning ALL of the things. I didn’t know if to cry, begin CPR on my makeup brushes, or just leave everything right there and turn around and go home and NEVER look back. So I took a few deep breaths and took to desperate measures by using my sweater to soak up whatever I could, and salvage as mang of my belongings as possible (never mind the fucking sweater too).
So with that said. Fuck you Friday. I wish you were never born. It may as well have been a MONDAY.