No Freakin' Out!

I don't like Limp Bizkit at all, but you know that song where he's screaming about "It's just one of those days when you don't feel like waking up," and then he proceeds to scream more about wanting to break stuff and freak out and cause all sort mayhem.

Yeah, that's me this morning.

I've mellowed out quite a bit, but this is how it started.

First off, it's a fucking Monday. A rainy, dank, dreary Monday with all the makings of a dank, dreary workday. All weekend long they kept telling me that it was gonna clear up and be pretty and sunny and "partly sunny" at worst. But it never did. So the whole weekend we were kind of cooped up, one on top of the other, and by late Sunday night I was pretty terrifically worn out from the whole thing. Not being able to get out and play is pretty hard on our family.

So the Monday starts. Doug gets up a little late, rushes the boy ready, I sort of whip up his lunch (not unlike the slow turtle in the bugs bunny cartoons who races bugs, and is all slow and mopey), and then they are off to the races. Jessica is of the same mindset I am. She's finally out of bed and out the door. I get ready, I grab my lunch. I look for my keys.

Where the hell are they.

Missing on a Monday after the spousal unit has split, no keys. So I launch. I start tearing the place apart. They are ALWAYS right in front of the microwave, and they aren't.

So I look in all the likely possible places, can't find them. I start to honest to God hyperventilate. I'm panicking. I'm unhinged.

I call my boss to explain to her that I will be late for the lamest reason on earth. I can't find my keys. I mean, what kind of bullshite excuse is "Sorry, I can't find my keys." Part of me wanted to say "woo hoo! free day off!" and flick the hiking boots off, chuck the fleece onto the coat rack and sit back with some rice crispies and coffee to watch the morning news. But another part of me said -- shit, you're lucky to have a job, get in there, and don't fuck up or she will fire your ass in a heart beat.

So I proceed to look more for the keys, finding them not. I find the "valet" key, the extra key that Saturn gives you when you buy the car and I'm like "Aces! I'll make it to work by 9:00!" and I tear ass out the door...

... only to make it to the car and find that Doug powerlocked it last night, enabling the car alarm. Peachy, kids. Now, we're locked out of the house.

I hate powerlocks. I hate car alarms. If I open this car door right now the alarm is going to start going off and I'm going to have to drive to the Saturn Dealership and beg them to turn it the fuck off. That will not do.

So I now have to get back in the house. I climb in threw the livingroom window... get my khakis all filthy, and my foot slips on the deck while I'm halfway in the window, so I land on my groin, my naughty bits as it were.

Now even though a woman's official naughty bits are interior bits, the area is still subject to extra pain when landed upon in full spread legged mode. So I'm straddling the windowsill, cursing, and shoving at the couch so as to move it the fuck out of my way. I get in, and I come unglued. I'm like Fred Durst. It's just one of those days... start singing it and start wrecking the place along with me. Everybody now!

Then I'm convinced I'm losing my mind and I stop to breathe. I have to call Doug. Maybe he has my keys and I think if he does I will kill him. Maybe he saw them and moved them. Maybe he took them away from Geoff. Maybe.

He has no idea. So he offers very kindly to come home and give me his. He doesn't have a student until 9:45, so he's got some time. He's home in less than 20 minutes, he gives me his keys. I'm all calmed down and collected. I have that bowl of cereal and that cup of coffee. I even remember to bring my lunch with me.

I made it to work only 45 minutes late. I was here, at my desk, at 9:15. Which is miraculous.

Now I have to go home and find my keys.

I think that my freaking out totally is indicative that I am under some serious stress and am not venting it correctly. I'm not sure what that stress is. Perhaps it is just life stress in living in a country where everyone is being mailed anthrax, and terroristic little things could happen any second. Perhaps it is work, and I'm not aware that I'm stressed here. It was a totally inappropriate reaction to something that just kind of happens. I'm worried about myself.

Pray for me that I find these stupid keys and I can get on with my life.