Right now I’m staring down the neck of a Corona that I anticipate to be the first in a series of several which I will ingest this evening. Why am I breaking my long-held rule of drinking during the week when I’m not off of work tomorrow?
Because an hour ago I got home from work to find Sammy had vomited all over my kitchen. While I was cleaning that up, Sammy decided to spray diarrhea all over the carpeted hallway of my building. In front of the video cameras. The halls smell like shit, I’m sure my neighbors will notice and I’m the only one on the floor with dogs.
And half an hour before that I plunked down another $650 on to my credit card as I picked Thora up from the vet because her evil stomach sickness came back.
And 45 minutes before that I asked our IT department to put spyware on someone’s computer so we can figure out if she’s illegally sending files to someone outside our company.
And two hours before that I had just returned to my office after a blissful hour lunch with Mr. X, one of the only lunches I’ve ever taken out of the office in my four months of working at the Vortex, to find that “everyone” was looking for me. No, really. They said everyone. In the hour I was gone they fired someone and several hundred calls started pouring in because someone mailed a letter with a mistake – a mistake I didn’t know about and wasn’t a part of, mind you, but I had to listen to the fallout from some of it anyway.
And two hours before that I had finished dropping off 72 boxes of files (no, really, it was 72) with a couple interns and some “labor” as they called the poor underpaid guys, to some plush attorney’s office at Tyson’s.
And 10 minutes before that I was driving one of the trucks up 495 and ran over part of one of our boxes which fell off another truck.
And two hours before that I was in an overheated file room compiling all these boxes, inventorying content and loading them on to a truck three trucks. I was also complaining. Let’s not forget that. I’m very good at complaining. See: blog archives.
And one hour before that I was driving to work this morning wishing I didn’t have to go.
And one hour before that, E and I were watching in horror as Thora shit a stream of blood from her ass. (Look, I know it’s gross. But you know what you’re gonna get over here at Velvet in Dupont, so don’t act like it caught you off guard.)
And two hours before that, (we’re at 5:00 a.m. for those of you in the back) E woke up and ate the rest of my Flips.
And five minutes before that, E cleaned up Thora’s vomit that occurred at 4:50 a.m. while I slept and dreamed about a life bartending again.
And five hours before that I wondered as I showered, if this crushing stress will ever lift so that everything in my body that has liquefied could somehow unliquefy and I could be normal again.
And a day prior to that I found out I had to pack the aforementioned 72 boxes. In a dress. Not pack the boxes in a dress. I was wearing a dress. A $200 dress. And heels. And I had to go to a storage facility which was filled with bees and not air-conditioned. On July fucking 16th when average temperatures hover near 100 degrees.
And a day prior to that I found out that I’m so far behind with work because of other work dumped on me with the very thinly veiled excuse “You’re the only one who won’t fuck this up,” that almost everyone in the entire division is at a standstill until I can somehow figure out how to grow a siamese twin, separate myself from her, have her grow a twin, those two separate and then all three of us can plug away at this work until it gets done.
And a day prior to that, I realized that I still have his number, but decided not to go see Dr. Feelgood.
And a day and 15 minutes prior to that I thought, “Wow. It would be really nice if Dr. Feelgood could give me some SpecialK. (And not the cereal.) I wonder if I still have his number…”
And three days before that my mother sent me some email that insinuated I was a homewrecker. Let’s get this straight, okay? No one can “steal” anyone else’s husband. If you don’t believe me, ask Denise Richards when she really socked it to that tabloid journalist who printed lies about her. It is impossible to steal someone who doesn’t want to be stolen. Besides, I honestly had nothing to do with it. I had another boyfriend at the time. Not a very good one, mind you, but one who kept my mind off any sort of husband-stealing activities. Those of you who know me can just go ahead and admit for the rest that I’m inherently too lazy to steal mail from my neighbor, much less go through the motions of “stealing” a husband.
And a day before that I had the “incident” at Friendship Animal Hospital.
So there you have it. The events of the last two weeks that have resulted in my having to medicate with alcohol. I’ll see you when the sun comes up. Maybe.
a year ago tonight, someone Mr. X and I used to work with called me and told me that Mr. X and I were the subject of a very racy rumor. So I texted him: “Hey…did you hear that you and I have been sleeping together for years, apparently? I wish someone had told us. I’d like to know how it was.”
So begins the texting. It started slow and awkward, but each text crossed the line a little more and then a little more. Each of us too chicken to pick up the phone, we had a “conversation” that lasted from 11 p.m. until 6 a.m.
I’m not sure at what point in the last 365 days that I “knew,” but I just knew.
And I’ve never looked back since.