At that point
Yesterday was a day when my panties were in a twist. Figuratively. And, come to think of it, literally.
I am once again AT THAT POINT. The point where the house is a disaster, the dishes have piled up for days, I sleep curled in the only corner of my bed that isn’t strewn with clothes and water bottles and books, and wake up after a 5-hour tooth-grinding slumber only to hear my neighbors engaging in… an “extracurricular activity”… and to find that I am out of clean underwear. But not completely out – just down to the ones I don’t like. The ones I keep around just in case I find myself AT THAT POINT. The ones that are uncomfortable, and leave me going about the tasks of the day with the screaming knowledge that I HATE MY UNDERWEAR RIGHT NOW.
Also, I went to work without realizing how low-cut my shirt was, and so I spent the entire day tugging it up, and feeling self-conscious, and altogether embarrassed.
The phone rang incessantly, and while in the past I have complained about the mind-numbingly quiet hours at work, I found myself feeling insulted and indignant that people are calling? SHEESH. This isn’t my JOB. (Yes, I do realize that it is, in fact, my job.) It gave me a newfound gratitude for the silence I typically spend my days cocooned in – even when the cocoon is more like a sealed Ziploc bag in which I am slowly suffocating.
My jaw hurt. My back hurt. My brain felt spiky and hung-over for no reason. My eyes were tired of the computer screen glare, my mind was tired of post-election Twittering, my feet were tired of high heels. And most of all, my heart was, and still is, devastated about Ben.*
The weight of it all came crashing in at lunchtime when I mindlessly wandered through Target only to spend $17.99 that I don’t have on a tiny tube of eye cream that I know won’t work. But at 26, I am looking in the mirror and seeing wrinkles and an age spot. AGE + SPOT. Now, there are two words you never want to see together. Like shoulder + pad, or skin + flap.
And, speaking of eye cream, I interrupt this blog to bring you the three biggest lies I have ever fallen for:
1) Hemorrhoid cream gets rid of puffy eyes,
2) Stop signs rimmed in white are optional, and
3) Vodka has no calories
Anyway, back to Target. I forked over the cash for the “anti-aging,” “wonder-working” concoction, and went on my merry way. Congratulations, Annie. You’ve just been had.
Today is a classic case of “second verse, same as the first,” with the exception that I am not taking a lunch break, peacing out at 4pm, and flying to San Diego for a wedding – in which I am both a bridesmaid AND the musical act. Except: I’m not packed, I have no idea how to fit this floor-length bridesmaid dress into my suitcase, I haven’t practiced the song, I know that I’m going to forget something imperative like my phone charger or my guitar capo or my underwear…
Oh wait. None left.
LOOK OUT, CALIFORNIA.
* Last night, my old church in Seattle held a prayer vigil for Ben Towne. And Greta wrote some (not surprisingly) beautiful and meaningful words about the service. Please continue to cradle the Townes in your prayers.
share:
tags: Aggravation | Rant | Travel | Women | Work
Look out California is right! I wish you were going to MY wedding again. Seriously, I want another wedding IF ONLY so that YOU can come to it and we can have a fabulously dance-y, drink-y, craze-filled time. I guess, we don’t need a wedding for that, but it would require us to be in the same place. Alas. Have a GREAT time. I am praying for Ben and Greta’s blog made me cry, she is profoundly talented.
I owe you a phone call. I am “it” and will get you back, I promise!
haha. i totally understand days like those. but as your sister who loves you dearly, don’t take it wrong when i have to laugh a little when i read about such stress. at least, since you put a comical spin on much of it.
have fun in california.
i’m praying for ben too.
You’re coming to California, and I so wish I could meet you for reals. :) Someday.
Greta’s post about Ben had me in tears. He sounds like such an amazing little man with a beautiful family. I’m glad they are surrounded and so loved by you all.
Have a blast in California!
I have to say… I’m a little jealous. Our Car is buried and we can’t get out our front door. We’ve got over a foot of SNOW. Lame.
Greta’s words were so awesome; thanks for pointing me over there. I’ve been praying for the Townes and my heart is broken for them.
Hope you have a safe trip out here.
A) You fell for the stop sign thing too? I can’t believe there are two of you! Someone in 5th grade tried to tell me that and I laughed her out of the building.
B) Thanks for the proper use of literally. You are changing our world one correctly used word at a time.
Anne E. you. are. fabulous.
hemorrhoid cream does work to get rid of the wrinkles but you put it on your face not your ass-
Oh Jim. Always the charmer…
I’ve felt like that a log lately.
On a lighter note, I’ve heard that rollerball Garnier undereye thingy works wonders…
The three biggest lies I’ve fallen for:
1) that diet pills (any) work
2) that finishing my plate of food somehow helps starving children in China
3) that thong underwear are comfortable.
My dear…next time you need some skincare product – don’t go to Target!!! Next time send me a “help!” email. I would have sent you (free shipping) an eye cream that really works, and would be worth your money, and 100% satisfaction attached so if you didn’t like it you’d get your money back. Seriously pretty girl, that’s why you have friends doing what I do.
1) I also have neighbors that live on the other side of the wall where I sleep that participate in “extra-curricular” activites. These include loud parties, cigarette smoke that creeps in my windows, and last but certainly not least, wall-banging, screaming, dirty….card playing I’m sure. Nothing like waking up in the middle of the night wondering what that banging noise is and should you get the door.
2) Deborah, it CAN be comfortable; you just have to find the right kind. I figure, it creeps in there anyway, might as well reduce the amount of material that moves.