Disclaimer: These events are true, but not presented in a grammatically correct manner. I save that shit for work and school. : )
Monday:
As a rule, I like Mondays for two reasons: 1) Because no one else does, and I like underdogs by nature, which might earn me brownie points with God, but has done nothing to make my life easier and 2) Because I was born on a Monday, and that is feeding into my vanity, which probably eats up some of those brownie points (and if those points are made of brownies - then I'll finish off what is left of them by the end of the week cause it's PMS time.)
Anyhow, I'm stalling, because I can't even remember Monday at this point. I know it involved work and Bella. Oh, and BAD Mommy! It was her first day of pre-school. I remember that clearly, now. Yes, I had put her to bed by 8:30 and had everything packed to go. Then a cute man called me. Sunday night was going well. But my child was too excited to sleep of course. And who could blame her; Monday was the first day of pre-school for the 3rd year in a row. A real novelty, I'll tell you. She didn't fall asleep until 11:30. Nice. We had to rise at 5. She was good about it. And really, we managed our way through Monday with no ills.
Tuesday:
My memory improves, and apparently only mine, because I'm the only one to remember my Dad's birthday. I get a tour of my ex's precious loft in the city that he has always wanted. "I want to live in a loft in the city, and do my art." I've been hearing that for years before we were even divorced. Apparently a man will leave his family for bricks and concrete. We had bricks and concrete, but obviously not in the right configuration to hold a man.
Yeah, so then by the end of the work day I have to go through the rigmarole of getting my booster seat into my ex's car, and reminding him to grab the lunch I pre-packed for Bella out of the work fridge, and take it home so he can take it to school with her in the morning. Also, I remind him to give money to the teacher for her to buy chocolate milk, because she doesn't like the case of juice I bought for her that she picked out. Prior to all this, I get a lot of strange emails from my ex-boyfriend, Peter Pan. In which he writes, "You know, I was thinking of you a lot when I was in bed last night. It's a wonder I got any sleep."
Followed by,"I hope and pray that your studies lead you back to Jesus -- that he fulfilled all of the prophecies and promises of God."
Interesting comments to make to your ex-girlfriend in the process of converting to Judaism. But really, it's nice to know there is someone out there masturbating and praying for me. I'm just surprised the two things are happening nearly at the same time. So, I head off to study, eat, (answer a call from the ex to field more parenting questions – apparently I'm an expert) and then to Judaism class, which has been the highlight of my week. But I don't write personal, spiritual type of things. So, you'll just have to use your imaginations.
Wednesday:
After staying up late doing more homework, I rise at 5 to do more homework. I really like homework, I guess. I head in to work. And I also email the ex-boyfriend, to clarify the boundaries of our friendship and engage in a lively and civil religious debate. I dash out of work and off to school, where I finalize the red tape of grad school financials, and then I get smarter. I think. That's what I'm paying for right? I head home at 10p.m., to be greeted by parents who inform me of Bella's evening. She is sleeping sweetly in her bed, and I go in to kiss her. I smell the soft, warmth of her skin. I've missed her. I shake my parents, who I deeply appreciate, but let's face it parents adore their kids and kids begrudgingly love their parents or something like that. So, tired I climb into a hot bath to read Dickens. And this is as close to dick as I'm getting these months. I'm not sure if I consider this a bad or good thing. As I read, with these contemplations of dick and Dickens it becomes quite clear that I have pussy trouble as Kafka (my cat) falls off the ledge and into the tub. I freeze in hope that he will scramble and jump out with out shredding me to bits. And he does. But I no longer want to linger in that bath water, so I go on to bed. Midnight, perfect, I like to get as little sleep as possible.
Thursday:
Ding. Ding.
Ladies and…well, in this corner Mommy 5'2" and none of your damn business, and in the other corner, K.C. the cat. This is how my morning starts – a wrestling match to get K.C. in the crate (so he could go to the vet this morning, because his eyes are red, leaky and goopy), The grunting, heavy-breathing wrestling match results in the crate door coming off completely. I continue to wrestle K.C . down while reattaching the door. There! It's backwards! Shit. I take the door back off, reattach - and all while wrestling down this cat- and close the door. I can only imagine how it all looked to Bella, whom I did not look at, because obviously my focus was on my cat struggle, but I could hear her. And she, in pink Disney princess nightgown and bare feet, just said, "Oh!" at intervals. At one point I said, "Son of a Gun!" to which I heard her comment, "That's a good one. You can't say the other one."
I pile everyone and thing into the car, drive off in search of caffeine, and discover I'm bleeding. I don't even care. And finally, after the drop off of everyone and everything I am at work, and apparently not much in the mood to do a whole lot. I'm really looking forward to Friday
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