complain, complain

God, yesterday was a shitty day. Eternal, incredibly, ridiculously busy and completely unproductive,
frustrating and just–stupid. It was stupid in so many ways, for so many
reasons. This cold, flu, bronchitis, cancer
of the happiness lingers on and on and on forever and ever, world without end,
and I am coughing like someone who just cannot stop coughing and might die of
it. Coughing, I mean. So E. ended up on
the couch last night, and I couldn’t wake up enough to stop him, to tell him I’m so sorry, that I would be the one to get up, but I couldn’t go to sleep entirely because
I kept waking myself up with the coughing, coughing, coughing, and it was an
endless twilight of irritation and tiredness and ouchiness and feeling sorry
for myself. I kept half-waking up, crying, because I wouldn’t stop coughing and
it hurt a lot, and I kept having such uncomfortable, weird dreams (I was
totally ruining the wedding of a friend who was getting married in a motel) and
I woke up exhausted and in a mood that was…unpleasant. Surly, even. Royally,
ragingly unhappy and determined to hate the world, because the world started it.

Then I came home to an inbox full of freelance emergencies.
All the emergencies in the world, every one of them, one after the other.
Negotiable, navigable, at first. I even had time to surf the net, plenty of
time to take care of this stuff and still get all my work done. But small
explosions became big explosions which threatened to topple the world and
everything in it and Project Managers were shrieking But that’s where I keep my stuff! and I had to keep yelling at very
tiny, freshly borned, wet-with-afterbirth editorlings who kept ruining
everything and making me mad and look bad and can people please get a handle on
the whole reading comprehension thing, please? My email had bullet points, for fuck’s sake. If you
can’t concentrate through a series of succinct and precise bullet points, then
you are broken and you fail and I hate
Please stop panicki–no, do not panic–no, I’m serious, reread my
goddamn email before I set you on fire okay thank you. Did I mention how I hate
you? Oh, you skipped that part? Awesome!

Then! The Comcast guy! Who comes over to fix my teevee.
"Your television, right? Not your Internet?" No, no, not my Internet.
My Internet is perfect! Me and the Internet are best friends! I love the Internet, and the Internet loves me back so much. Hooray for the Internet! Hey,
why is the Internet not working any more? Hello? Cable guy? Wait, did he just
unplug all my cables and drive away in his truck? Drove. Away. He drove away!
Without saying a word he walked out the door, in the middle of my service
appointment, and drove away. Okay,
why is my life so stupid? And holy crap, give me back my Internet before
something explodes.

Things were exploding, and I was helpless like a tiny kitten,
and starvingly hungry and all I wanted was M&Ms and a ham but my pantry was
empty and my life was a pit of sorrow and I almost cried on the phone with
Comcast customer service ("And, and, and he left! He just left me! He walked out the door with,
without a word and he left!") and
the toilet was backing up, the cat was hiding in the closet, the crazy landlord
was knocking at my door, the big sack of garbage I had to take out had
developed a leak which spread across the floor and smelled like a dog with a
problem, and really, if I had an ounce less self-control, I would have found
the bottom of the bottle of Maker’s Mark I had, gratefully, unpacked just the
day before and I would have never come out. Ever again. No. I hate you.

Comcast guy came back an hour later with a mumbled explanation about the
guys and a pole and I really thought we weren’t that close, but okay, please, you
can share with me if you fix my goddamn Internet. He plugged stuff back in,
said, "Oh, sorry, your TiVo doesn’t work and we don’t support it okay,
bye!" and he left and hooray Internet, except I had 49-million
emails about nuclear explosions and eminent doom and 20 chapters to edit except
that I didn’t have time to actually accomplish anything except babysitting, and
things to write and oh, I have to shower because J. is taking me grocery
shopping and that was a waste of a
goddamn day.

Breathe in, breathe out. It wasn’t a waste of a day–the
generosity of friends. Getting my pantry stocked (not a euphemism) and Starbucks. On the couch
with a puppy and a guy. Hot homemade soup, episodes of Heroes, a ride home in the dark, because I still have so much work
to do, tonight, but the promise that still traces that silly grin right across
my silly face–"I’ll see you tomorrow, baby." I’m tired, but there are
some hours left in me. I have a cat on my lap, and plenty of time to get things
done. Probably.

3 Replies to “complain, complain”

  1. omigod. I just adore you. And your shitty shitty day. Starbucks and puppies and a guy makes everything all the better– even more so that a ham or M&M’s. But, if they happen to be peanut, well, then it’s a tie.

  2. Hey,

    Awhile ago, my Tivo stopped working because of a firmware update Comcast sent through to the Motorola cable box that disabled the serial port on the box that allowed the Tivo to change channels. After much haggling, I managed to exchange the box for a different box that has a working serial port. If you google for the problem, you’ll find that many of Comcast’s customers have had similar problems.

    Hope you feel better!

  3. Aw, “see you tomorrow, baby” makes up for so much, doesn’t it?

    I hope the coughing has stopped and the “very tiny, freshly borned, wet-with-afterbirth editorlings” (I am in love with you for writing that) are dead.

    I find a fabulous day is often preceded by a shitty day so here’s hoping today’s fabulous.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *