fullygoldy (
fullygoldy) wrote2006-01-28 08:03 pm
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I Don't Have Any Idea What I'm Doing Anymore
Or, Weekends are Over-rated.
Friday was a pretty good day, spent the time with DH, drove around some, did a couple of errands, visited some friends, watched the SciFi channel. It seemed pretty promising, ya know? I spent maybe 5 minutes on work of the 4 hours I need to spend this weekend, and didn't feel too guilty about that.
Today, I was going to get up with Mavis and take her to her bus at 5:45 am, then head straight for the grocery. It's kind of cool to go shopping that early and not have to hassle the crowds. But DH was up at 5 anyway, so he took her, and I waited until about 6:30 to head out. Got home and Rupert wasn't even really up yet, but that was no surprise.
Nope, the surprise came when I decided to clean the great room, so I chased DH out, and started straightening up, getting ready to vacuum. Plugged in the new vacuum (less than 2 mos old), and it didn't seem to have any suction. Fooled around with the belts and the hose and such, and finally, realized that the canister was *empty.* Not empty in the free-of-dirt-and-debris way that it should have been because last weekend I told Mavis to empty it out after she used it. Empty in the missing-the-filter-and-lid-to-the-canister way that had me running horrified out to the garage and garbage pails looking for the missing parts. Have you guessed yet? No parts to be found. The best guess, which will have to wait to be confirmed until the girl arrives home, is that she just blindly dumped the entire contents into the trash can, which was collected last Thursday by the garbage men. This was the start of a very large meltdown.
DH was very kind and understanding. He hugged me while I cried and he called a parts place and got replacement parts ordered right away. They'll be here in about 10 days. That's right. No vacuuming my house for 10 days. The house I'm supposedly keeping very clean to protect DH from contracting any nasty bug and dying on me.
That segued into a revival of a discussion that did not happen on Wed. night. In which, we learn *again* that Goldy is much too uncommunicative with the world in general and DH in the specific. Accompanied by much crying (me) and professions of undying love (both).
Next was a major "discussion" with Rupert about the necessity of cleaning his bedroom and bathroom. Actually cleaning it as opposed to going into his room for 3 hours and hoping no one will check how well he did when he comes back out. And I just don't understand at all why this is so fucking hard. Every Single Day someone tells him to clean his room, straighten it up a little today, so it will be easier to get cleaned up tomorrow, bring those empty dishes that you're not supposed to have in your room anyway down to the kitchen, and yet, at least once per month, we go through this teeth-pulling ritual of trying to get his room clean enough that a normal person could live in it. Tomorrow, I'll get to go throught the same ritual with the girl. While simultaneously trying to get another 3 hrs 55 min of paying work done. As a long-lost-friend used to say, "Oh, Joy unconfined!"
So here I am, completely brain dead, with red, swollen, eyes, and little rivulets of tears just spontaneously erupting. It occurs to me that I'm going to have to get used to this. It's going to be this way for the rest of my life. I'll be the woman with the continuously red eyes. It already started a week ago. I went into work with obviously red eyes and had to talk to people. They kindly refrained from mentioning it. At least twice during the past week I had to look contractors in the eye and pretend that they weren't pretending my eyes weren't red. I can hear it now, they'll start saying things like "that Goldy, she does a great job. A little weepy, but she still does great work." (Because they're totally telling me the great work part right now). That'll last for a little while. Then there'll be the ones who wonder how the hell I manage to keep my job. Who in the world hires a woman who just cries all the time, sometimes for no apparent reason?
Maybe it won't be so bad. I mean, there are weirder eccentricities, right? Or maybe I'll dry up eventually. You've got to run out of tears sometime. Even if you're well-hydrated, you're just going to run out of tears. It's that or run out of things to cry about.
Also, I think I'm going to be a very cranky old woman.
Friday was a pretty good day, spent the time with DH, drove around some, did a couple of errands, visited some friends, watched the SciFi channel. It seemed pretty promising, ya know? I spent maybe 5 minutes on work of the 4 hours I need to spend this weekend, and didn't feel too guilty about that.
Today, I was going to get up with Mavis and take her to her bus at 5:45 am, then head straight for the grocery. It's kind of cool to go shopping that early and not have to hassle the crowds. But DH was up at 5 anyway, so he took her, and I waited until about 6:30 to head out. Got home and Rupert wasn't even really up yet, but that was no surprise.
Nope, the surprise came when I decided to clean the great room, so I chased DH out, and started straightening up, getting ready to vacuum. Plugged in the new vacuum (less than 2 mos old), and it didn't seem to have any suction. Fooled around with the belts and the hose and such, and finally, realized that the canister was *empty.* Not empty in the free-of-dirt-and-debris way that it should have been because last weekend I told Mavis to empty it out after she used it. Empty in the missing-the-filter-and-lid-to-the-canister way that had me running horrified out to the garage and garbage pails looking for the missing parts. Have you guessed yet? No parts to be found. The best guess, which will have to wait to be confirmed until the girl arrives home, is that she just blindly dumped the entire contents into the trash can, which was collected last Thursday by the garbage men. This was the start of a very large meltdown.
DH was very kind and understanding. He hugged me while I cried and he called a parts place and got replacement parts ordered right away. They'll be here in about 10 days. That's right. No vacuuming my house for 10 days. The house I'm supposedly keeping very clean to protect DH from contracting any nasty bug and dying on me.
That segued into a revival of a discussion that did not happen on Wed. night. In which, we learn *again* that Goldy is much too uncommunicative with the world in general and DH in the specific. Accompanied by much crying (me) and professions of undying love (both).
Next was a major "discussion" with Rupert about the necessity of cleaning his bedroom and bathroom. Actually cleaning it as opposed to going into his room for 3 hours and hoping no one will check how well he did when he comes back out. And I just don't understand at all why this is so fucking hard. Every Single Day someone tells him to clean his room, straighten it up a little today, so it will be easier to get cleaned up tomorrow, bring those empty dishes that you're not supposed to have in your room anyway down to the kitchen, and yet, at least once per month, we go through this teeth-pulling ritual of trying to get his room clean enough that a normal person could live in it. Tomorrow, I'll get to go throught the same ritual with the girl. While simultaneously trying to get another 3 hrs 55 min of paying work done. As a long-lost-friend used to say, "Oh, Joy unconfined!"
So here I am, completely brain dead, with red, swollen, eyes, and little rivulets of tears just spontaneously erupting. It occurs to me that I'm going to have to get used to this. It's going to be this way for the rest of my life. I'll be the woman with the continuously red eyes. It already started a week ago. I went into work with obviously red eyes and had to talk to people. They kindly refrained from mentioning it. At least twice during the past week I had to look contractors in the eye and pretend that they weren't pretending my eyes weren't red. I can hear it now, they'll start saying things like "that Goldy, she does a great job. A little weepy, but she still does great work." (Because they're totally telling me the great work part right now). That'll last for a little while. Then there'll be the ones who wonder how the hell I manage to keep my job. Who in the world hires a woman who just cries all the time, sometimes for no apparent reason?
Maybe it won't be so bad. I mean, there are weirder eccentricities, right? Or maybe I'll dry up eventually. You've got to run out of tears sometime. Even if you're well-hydrated, you're just going to run out of tears. It's that or run out of things to cry about.
Also, I think I'm going to be a very cranky old woman.