T. H. N. G. V. B. Day

Monday. April 13th. 2009.

I woke up, abruptly, out of a dream wherein I was hiding in plain sight of zombies - I felt deeply stressed. I rolled over, slowly accepting that this was reality - not the zombies - when I realized it was both light out and Greg was still sleeping next to me.

I can't see written things at a distance without my glasses, so I had no idea what time it was. I poked Greg awake and said "Did we forget to set the alarm?" He sat up and checked the time - 6:45 a.m.

Our normal routine has him waking up at 5:00 a.m. and taking the dog for a walk, getting a shower, getting dressed, and getting ready to go to work. Then he slips in bed with me for 5 minutes for a quick snuggle and heads out the door at about 7:20. On days when this routine is violated, unpleasant things happen. I used to get very upset about it, but then I realized that I was being a jerk because every other day that he does get up on time he takes care of so much in the mornings that I should just go with the flow on the days he makes a mistake. No big deal. Except that by the time I realized I should take it easy, Greg had started to anticipate anger every time he's late. He treats me like a ticking time bomb. If we were to have a conversation, it might go like this:

Greg: Calm down. It's okay. I'm so so sorry. I'm such a jerk.
Megan: Um. Okay, but I am calm. It's no big deal.
Greg: BUT I"M SORRY. I'm SO SO SORRY. It's ALL MY FAULT. I just don't want you to be upset!!!!
Megan: I'm not upset. Stop treating me like I should be angry right now. It's fine.
Greg: I DIDN'T MEAN TO. I'm SORRY. SO SORRY. Please don't be mad. Please.
Megan: Okay. Starting to get pissed off now.

And even though I genuinely start off calm and fine, knowing that being a little late is NO big deal, I end up wanting to throttle him.

Lately, the routine has changed again. I start out calm, and Greg waits to grovel until he's really sure whether or not I'm pissed. I'm usually not, and he usually ends up being very grateful and appreciative that I'm not. And we end up even more snuggly and appreciative of each other. Good right?

Right.

His morning routine's a little less forgiving now because of Dexter, so he jumped out of bed and took Dexter for a walk. I got up, got dressed, put together a lunch for Greg, and started coffee. By the time Greg was ready to go, I was feeling pretty proud of myself for taking it all in stride, and helping out. He ran out the door, and I was left alone in the house to get breakfast and head off to work myself.

I wasn't hungry. Actually I hadn't been hungry since the day before at lunch and I had gone to bed without dinner the night before because of a combination of a mix up in recipes and just not feeling well. So I didn't eat breakfast. I got together some easter candy and my coffee and headed out the door.

The car stated in big glowing letters that it only had an 11 mile fuel range.

I was running a little later than normal, so I both didn't feel comfortable stopping for gas on the way to work because I would be late... AND because I've never pumped my own gas.

Go ahead. Make fun. I grew up in New Jersey, and it is AGAINST THE LAW to pump your own gas there. I didn't have a car in college, and I only recently started driving to work. It hasn't been an issue... and I've actually never done it myself. This is the type of thing that stresses me out. So, I drove to work, pressing the gas pedal as little as possible (after turning the car on, searching for my purse, turning the car off, going inside, getting my legs scratched my dexter, locating my purse, and running back out again).

When I got to work the garage was super packed. Extracting myself from the car was much like popping a black head.

I got in to the office and almost immediately got a headache and felt nauseous, presumably from lack of nutrition. I rationed 6 twizzlers throughout the morning and made it till noon without getting too dizzy.

It was then that I realized that because of certain events at the workplace, AND the gas situation, I would be unable to leave at the lunch hour to go home to Dexter. And I hadn't brought a lunch.

I gave Greg a call and he said he'd go home to take Dexter out, no problem. He offered to bring me something for lunch, but to be honest with you I was pissed about the gas problem, so I refused, steeling myself for martyrdom.

About 15 minutes after that phone call, during a bathroom break the toilet I used got clogged and consequently flooded onto my shoes. And the shoes of the woman in the stall next to me.

I fled. I washed my hands and fled the scene before she could see my face.

I did call in maintenance and they came and fixed it, but I didn't show my face in the bathroom again for another 4 hours.

I was tired. loopy. nauseous. super grumpy. My boss picked up on it, and when I asked if I could go home half an hour early, she agreed. Greg offered to order Chinese food so that I could eat something at home. My day started looking up.

I got home, and was changing while on the phone with Greg and was just buttoning my jeans when someone knocked on the door. I raced to the door with one slipper on, threw the phone down, opened the door, grabbed my purse and reached to sign for the food.

Dexter escaped.

He eagerly greeted the delivery man and then bounded around the porch. I just about had a heart attack before I could grab him, throw him in the house, slam the front door and finish signing for the food.

Chinese food in hand, I turned to the door and.... Locked.

I locked myself out.

One bare foot, one pink polka dot slipper. A t-shirt. Jeans.

Aaaaaaaaaand my fly was down.

Great.

I waded through the alley way chock full of bird poop to check the back door and basement door to no avail. Dexter has no opposable thumbs but did helpfully remind me that in my rush to get to the front door I'd left our bedroom door wide open with access to all sorts of shoes and clothing for little puppies to chew on.

I went next door to ask if we'd given them a key. We hadn't.

I called Greg. He left immediately, and I waited, standing at the front door, knocking on the door trying to keep Dexter with me, in the wind and cold, with hot chinese food getting colder by the minute, begging to be eaten - but they'd forgotten to include utensils.

When Greg got home I'd sung through a whole musical, counted out a full 8 minutes and gotten down to 53 bottles of beer on the wall.

In protest of the day, I stuffed my face with luke warm Chinese food and napped for 2 hours.



I thought today would go better but so far I microwaved a holographic paper plate (I now know the holographic-ness is a result of the use of metal), and I almost rear-ended someone on my way to work.

Awesome.