chukichi

this thing is still about things

This. Fucking. Week. — Part One

2

The week of September 23, at least.  THAT. Fucking. Week.  Maybe by the time I post this all of my injuries, physical and emotional, will be healed.  Not likely, but maybe.  The week started out with so much hope and potential—Robin’s TENTH birthday was Thursday, but Monday was also an incredibly significant and exciting day:  The Mr. moved into his new office space! 

He’s been self employed for two years now and overall it has been wonderful.  One of our biggest family issues was his overwork and absence so just being present in the home made a huge positive difference.  It absolutely eliminated some problems while simultaneously introducing new problems because that’s literally how life works.  Now, working at home wasn’t some magic bullet that made our family happily ever after, but it improved the quality of our lives exponentially.  Businesses can only grow and thrive so much out of a home office; happily, he’s outgrown being at home full time and has officially leased a great little office in conjunction with another established professional.

While all that was cause for celebration, Monday was going be my ‘get-shit-together’ day:  clean up the classroom, run birthday errands, clean the house up, etc.  Also on my schedule was making our dinner for equinox (as opposed to giving in to my inherent lazy desires and ordering take out) and baking some cakes in preparation for the Big Ten birthday on Thursday.  By 10 AM, I had a text from the Mr. asking me to pick up some things for him from Home Depot which was actually a welcome distraction and an option for the kids and me to see the office for the first time.

Well, that errand turned into a FIVE HOUR ORDEAL.  No, I wasn’t being cattle-prodded or anything like that, but…I have this condition that makes it damn near impossible for me to stop helping others right in the middle of a project.  Especially if it gives me an excuse to procrastinate on my own overwhelming mountain of a task list.  I hate this aspect of myself and if I don’t keep in in check it makes me a resentful garbage pile which is only exacerbated by the fact that I am volunteering.   Here’s how this part of the day went down:

  • go to Home Depot for a power strip and surge protector
  • Home Depot does not have the requested surge protector (as recommended by our IT guy). Drive a quarter of the way to his office when he finally gets back to me and tells me it’s at Lowes.
  • Turn around, go to Lowes.  In the aisle literally labeled SURGE PROTECTORS there are none of that brand or even that style.  Ask an employee if there are surge protectors anywhere in the store other than the surge protector aisle.  NO.
  • go to the office.  Yay new office!  Further research mythological surge protector and find out it’s in aisle 15, not in aisle 6 labeled SURGE PROTECTORS.  Make extensive list of additional needs from Lowes and set out again.
  • back at Lowes, aisle 15 is full of plastic storage containers and trash cans which is great because I needed a trash can but still no elusive surge protector.  Find help; turns out surge protectors are in the TV accessories aisle, aisle 11.
  • one small mortgage payment later, return to the Mr.’s office to lay on the floor to help with electronics installation.  It’s hot and stuffy because the doors are closed.  The doors are closed because the office mates have a gentle giant bulldog mix that wanted to be under the desk with me and I am not into that.
  • a fan and lunch are desperately needed.  Went home to start laundry, start dinner, take fan from bedroom instead of buying one as that would take too long.  Pick up lunch and deliver food and a fan; eat and go home by three-ish.

Phew!  What a day!

So, finally at home and have just enough time to wash Josh’s TKD uniform and gear and make equinox dinner.  No big deal.  I have about two hours.  I got this, I thought, which is an incredibly stupid thought.  I got nothing.  I have never in the history of ever gotten anything so maybe I was having heat stroke or low blood sugar or an out of body experience.

Things could have been gotten…except that there was a load of clothes in the washer that needed to be re-washed.  We have a new fancy washing machine (our old workhorse died after 17 years!) and it’s extremely efficient in spinning the clothes and basically pre-drying them before putting them in the dryer.  This is wonderful except when I don’t swap clothes out immediately and it gets The Smell.  You know what I mean.  Clean, yes, but with that low undertone of mildew.  The Smell of one minute too long of a delay and The Smell of wasted water, energy, and most importantly, time.  The Smell.

So a load takes about an hour to wash, about 40 minutes to dry (thanks to that super extreme spin cycle).  As I walked back into the kitchen, I realized I needed to put a bottle of mead into the fridge if I wanted to have it with dinner.  I pulled out a bottle from a low cabinet and immediately slow-motion-dropped it on my foot.

I dropped a full wine bottle approximately three and a half feet onto the bones of my left foot.  Specifically, the first long bone connecting to my big toe, a.k.a.: first metatarsal.  My scream brought a crowd of concerned children while also scattering a variety of indoor and outdoor animals.  I refused to take off my sock to inspect my injury because compression stocks are too much of a pain to take off and put on so I substituted cussing and hobbling around while I prepared the pork roast.

It was then that I realized the pork that I was preparing was rancid because of course it was.

Another trip to Kroger, a clean uniform fresh out of the dryer 30 minutes before the start of class, and the day from hell ended with many things accomplished but so many MORE things unfinished.  I did not fully inspect my foot until after dinner for a few reasons, all of which were fairly childish.  Basically, it boiled down to the idea that I didn’t have time for that shit and if I could walk I could ignore it for just a little while more.  A glass of mead and a thousand ibuprofen afterwards, I finally peeled off my sock.  I determined that the bone wasn’t broken as I could still move my toes without blacking out but could have a hairline crack or something.  Walking wasn’t terrible, but stairs were total bullshit.  Shoes were borderline intolerable but obviously I was wearing shoes and running around like a crazy person for the entire week.  As of today (Saturday the 28th) the knot is smaller but still there and I’m subjected to a constant sharp/burning pain and even I’m tired of my own complaints.  7:30 AM found me rubbing Tiger Balm on the spot and then groggily wiping MY FUCKING EYES so sufficed to say I am, if anything, consistent.

And that was only day one of that week.  Ugh.

2 thoughts on “This. Fucking. Week. — Part One

  1. Chanel McCoy

    I get tiger balm in my eyes at least once a week. It isn’t fun. I use so much tiger balm that I actually made my own a while back, which doesn’t burn QUITE as much, but still is no treat. I use mine and the real deal equally, just so my eyes won’t forget the difference.

  2. chukichigeek Post author

    Gotta build up that immunity, LOL I wiped my eyes with the hand that did NOT rub tiger balm into my foot so of course I still blinded myself. I still have a big fucking knot on my foot, too. Where are my tiny violins?!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: