Tell me if this is universal or it’s just me.
You’re extra full of things to do for a few days, and you think okay. I can deal with this. I’m all right. In fact, for me, it’s more fun when work is busy rather than: do this assignment. Wait a bit. Now do THIS assignment. Wait a bit. I like a steady pace that’s just on the edge of being scary but not actually scary.
But, to be specific, I’ve had a very busy time at work, PLUS seven kittens, four adult cats and a touched-in-the-head dog as well. And a strict diet that requires preparing food. Which in case you just got here is not my bailiwick. ‘Tisn’t in m’wheelhouse. Not my forte.
So, I kept thinking yesterday that if I just did this next thing, I could relax for the first time in several days. That’s what was dangling in front of me like a donkey with a carrot. My couch and the TV and a little LaCroix were danglin’.
I created a to-do list by speaking into my phone as I drove home, as my mind was abuzz with the shit I had to do. Once the list was done, I could relax.
- Get your food and put it away.
- Take care of the animals.
- Go to the grocery store.
- Then? LaCROIX THROWDOWN.
I’d ordered a buncha keto food delivered, and it was to arrive Wednesday in a box with ice like I’m Elvis ordering banana sandwiches. UPS kept telling me it was on its way, and I wanted to get it into the refridge, which is one of those things someone says wrong and then you start saying it wrong and in this case that someone was Ned.
Go to the grocery store, the list told me, as you are 100% out of dog and adult cat food (it’s cat food that talks dirty) (the each little nibble is man-bit shaped) (when my three cats eat it, instant three-way) (they wash it down with MILF) (okay, I’m done).
I was also 100% out of paper towels, and I wonder why. Is it because ONE of those kittens does not always get to the box? I see most of them going like good cats. But one. One is a rebel. He’s number two. He tries harder. To go on the floor.
So I’d dashed home from work hoping Elvis keto would be on my porch but no.
Since the food wasn’t there, I went inside, let Edsel out, scooped litter boxes–quelle surprise–threw out the bag of cat wastey bits including old Rebel with Orange Paws’s wayward bits, fed everyone, swept the kitten-room floor, tried to get the Donald Trump kitten to be nice, and then boom. UPS finally arrived.
(There’s one big cute orange kitten who used to be called JimBob, but he’s huge and orange-headed and I’ve taken to calling him Donald Trump. He HATES being petted. He shirks down. “No one is going to adopt you if you’re an asshole,” I keep telling him. He doesn’t care. My suspicion is that he’s the pooper but I swear I’ve seen his giant orange head in the box.)
When the keto delivery came, I got the scissors and opened it, then opened the many many many bags inside, put them all away, recycled the original box out at the bin, and finally got to leave for the store.
I got huge bags of cat food and even bigger bags of dog food, giant heavy litter and a case of LaCroix. I’m comin’ down with a case of LaCroix.
And, see, I PLAN to order pet supplies through Chewy again, but I wanted to keep track of how often I run out of everything so I’d know when to renew my order, and now I know. I went from April 18 to May 9, so apparently I need to order cat and dog food and fucking litter (it was in the adult cat food section) every three damn weeks and WHY SO BROKE JUNE OH MY GOD.
Sweatily, I lugged all the enormous shit into my house of enormous shits. The only time I regret being single is grocery-unloading time.
I had to rip open the food bags and dump the food into tins, change the real-cats’ litter boxes using fresh litter, and MY POINT IS…
When you’re this busy, and you keep thinking, one more thing. I just gotta do one more thing. When you do that, and you think you’re done, and it’s ALMOST TEN O’CLOCK, and you realize
you also have to take out the trash,
is that when you lose it?
Or is that just me?
I mean, normally you go about your evening, and you see oh. The trash needs to go out. And it’s like, well, shit.
But not me. Not me last night when I’d not stopped moving for 16 hours and I JUST WANTED COUCH AND LACROIX and there was ONE MORE THING TO DO and SON OF A BITCH.
Is that everyone? Or it that me?
P.S. While I was telling you this story, the lawn guys came and thank god because Shoeless Joe Jackson kept wandering out of my tall grass to tell me to build a baseball diamond. But the noises my lawn guys make scare the
out of Cora, the mom cat. So when they came, she began howling, and I went in there to pet her and talk to her.
And do you know that Donald Trump kitty crawled up on her back to make her feel better? I’ve never seen any of them do that to her at any other time, crawl on top of her.
So see? Everyone has a sweet side. Even poop-on-the-floor-orange-headed-don’t-pet-me Donald Trump kitten.
I gotta go. I’ve got stuff to do.