I wish I could move to Australia.
Work was very stressful and infuriating. I wanted to throw my fucking computer out the window and scream obscenities at the top of my lungs while kicking down cubicle walls.
I managed to make it through, though. My trainer this week isn't nearly as hovering and nit-picky as The Original Trainer was. Everything was fine today; everyone liked my work. You can't tell me everything has changed in a matter of days. I wish I'd been working with this guy before. Actually, I was supposed to work with him my second week.
The Boy said he can't hang out this week, which I was expecting. He's been such a busy worker bee for the last couple of weeks. He worked late last night, I have yoga tomorrow night and dinner plans on Thursday, then he's probably going camping. The chances of everything coming together tonight were slim. However, it's disappointing nonetheless. And I'm in such a shit mood I can't even respond to an e-mail, lest I accidentally say something mean or sarcastic. Sometimes it's just better for me to keep my fucking trap shut. Or keep my fingers off the keyboard. Whatever.
I opted to hang around work a bit longer so I could try the shortest bus trip home after work. Epic. Fail. The bus driver decided to leave five minutes late (he was just sitting at the Mall of America transit center ... it's not like he was behind schedule or anything), which made us get to my stop 10 minutes late, and five minutes after my bus left. So I had to sit there and wait A HALF HOUR. Guess I won't be choosing that option again. Fucking asshole.
Then I was going to just fucking skip working out because I was so late, but no. I rushed into the house to change and grab something to eat so I didn't pass out and headed out to my car. I did get the ol' girl to move. It took about 15 minutes. I was just sitting there, absentmindedly shifting gears when it lurched forward. Thank God there was no one in front of me.
Of course, at one busy intersection it wouldn't move until I dropped it into first. That made me freak out, so I just said fuck it to the gym and stopped at Trader Joe's. It was fine starting it up again there and getting out of my parking space. But driving at all caused me far more fucking anxiety than just letting it sit there would have.
(If I switch to the Y, I think I could walk there just as quickly as I can drive to or from Bally. WHY AM I NOT A MEMBER OF THE Y? I will be soon, no worries there. Though, my bus to work stops right. in. front. of the Richfield Bally. So much shit to haul to work ... but pretty convenient nonetheless. And the bus ride home is the same as walking to the Y or driving to St. Louis Park ... Decisions, decisions.)
Called home to ask my mom something and I guess my dad is going to call me sometime soon here because he did some checking to see how much it would cost to get my tranny fixed at home and it's less than the $2,000 to $3,000 they threw out at the shop on Saturday. This is good news. It's also not really news, because I figured that would be the case.
But then mom told me that Fredder isn't doing well. It's been up and down for the last several months, but my dad stopped at the house to see him today and he's using a walker. Mom said it probably won't be long now and that she hoped we'd at least come home for the wake.
That was the last straw. I managed to keep it together while I got off the phone with mom, but I've been bawling for the last half hour. My eyes are red and puffy and I cannot breathe. I gotta get myself together for when dad calls.
Need more wine.
(Also, of course I'll go home for the wake. I'll fucking work an extra day or something if I have to so I can go to the wake and funeral. He's like family.)
Tomorrow's a new day, right? Olympics (Michael Phelps, yum!) start Friday and party is Saturday. I just have to make it until the weekend and maybe I'll be okay.