You too, Tuesday. You're nothing but Monday in a hat.
That this week was going to be rough is not a surprise. It's been an unpleasant week every year for the past 11 years. That's because the anniversary of the car accident in which my grandma died is on Saturday.
It's weird -- as soon as February rolls around, it's in the back of my mind. Perhaps it's even more below the surface. I think about it, but it doesn't really register that the date is coming up. Even Saturday, I was thinking about the phone call I got from my dad that morning. Was I the first of his kids he called? I mean, I am the oldest. My brother was in high school and my sister in college. I had to have been the first, right? Despite the fact that I was thinking about that, the fact that the date was coming up wasn't really a part of my thought process.
But I had trouble sleeping on Sunday night. I was just not in a good mood at all when I finally did get up after being awake from 2:00 to 6:30 a.m. and then finally drifting off for a while. Something in my mind clicked, and I really started thinking about it.
Instead of just vaguely wondering about the order of phone calls, I started reliving that morning. The weather was really similar to what we've been having the past several days, or it was when it was sunny and not raining. I'd taken a leisurely route to work, dropping off the Cheating Asshole Ex-Boyfriend's Valentine's gift because I was going home to watch my brother's big basketball game that night. I washed my car. Then I finally went to work to finish up preparation for our big Lobby Day at the capitol that was coming up the following week.
And then my dad called. "Your Grandma was in an accident."
Things aren't so clear after that. I knew I was supposed to try to get in touch with my cousin who went to the U. I was going to pick her up and bring her home with me. I made several borderline hysterical phone calls. There were a lot of choked out words between sobs, anyway. Somehow I got back to my apartment and packed a bag. I kept calling home for some reason and got a busy signal for what seemed like forever. Finally, I got in touch with my cousin and set off to get her. Things are even more unclear after that.
You'd think it would get easier after all these years. And I suppose it is. Sunday and yesterday were really bad. Today's a bit better. By Saturday, I'll be fine. I'll be ready to make Grandma's angel food cake with lemon glaze and get drunk in my grandparents' memory (my Grandpa died on the day we buried Grandma -- 10 years earlier).
What puts things in horrible contrast is the fact that I have to go home for a bit on Sunday for my living Grandpa's 90th birthday "party." It might be mildly interesting because Grandma is apparently seriously losing her shit, but I kinda doubt it. It just seems so fucking unfair that my wonderful, loving grandparents died so many years ago and the evil people who treated my mom like shit and since we're her kids, they treated us awfully shabbily too, are still living and we have to be nice to them. You're a right fucking cunt sometimes, karma.
My gray, bleak mood has been matched, step-for-step by the weather. Jesus H. Christ. I missed the Good Doctor's birthday festivities yesterday because I rarely check my Yahoo e-mail account. I was up at 4:00 a.m. yesterday after not sleeping well the night before. I have PMS. The brakes in my new car -- the ones that were supposed to be at 75 percent -- aren't. I'm sure I'll have to lay out some more money because brakes aren't covered under my warranty. Still no word on my AWOL W-2, despite an e-mail and a phone call.
Oh, and I tweaked something in my right lower leg that forced me to stop my warm-up on the treadmill after 10 minutes today. I was actually ready to stop at about the 6:00 mark, but pushed on. Then I spent the entire time I was lifting weights trying to force myself to just GO HOME and not try to do any more cardio. Good Lord, is that tough. I managed it, though, but only after I looked upstairs and saw the spray bottle of sanitizer was still missing. If The Boy I Currently Like hadn't sent me some e-mail from someone at his work about a Norovirus "epidemic" in the state, I would have been sorely tempted to do it anyway.
It's going to be tough to not do cardio before yoga tomorrow. And to probably skip the gym altogether on Thursday. I'm going to feel gross and lazy and I'll hate myself.
But there's a bonus. I was able to run my errands and get home to get caught up with Gopher game by halftime and see Trent Tucker's jersey retirement ceremony in real time. Sweet! I was at The Barn the night Mychal Thompson's jersey was retired. I think.
And hey -- tomorrow is Hump Day. It's yoga day. It's one week until my birthday. I don't have to work on Monday. Things will be better soon.