I’m writing to you on Thursday evening because I find myself stampeding to my work as soon as I wake up now, due to busy. I’m busy busy busy busy busy. Thank heavens for Angie’s List. Remember when we all hated that commercial together?
Anyway. As a result I don’t have time to write in the a.m. sometimes and I know I will do the wake up and work tomorrow so I’m writing you now.
On Wednesday afternoon, I was thanking heavens for Angie’s List because busy. And then at 3:30 Poochie—remember Poochie?—asked if I could do a different task before end of day. “I can try, but I really really super extra have to be done at 5:00,” I told her, “because I have an appointment right after work and I have to pay if I miss.”
I realized then that it sounded like I was in therapy, and who cares if I am, but that made me self-conscious so then I let it be known to the universe and everyone on the work chat that it was, in fact, my personal trainer I had, and I am certain no one cared one iota and just wanted me to get the work done. Not to mention they must think, Why, she doesn’t need therapy. Just look at her successful love relationships, and her fine temper.
I did it, the work I mean, just under the wire, and at 4:57 I signed off. My phone had alerted me it was trash night, and every night is trash night here, what with the shenanigans and sexual hooosits going on [Narrator: There were no hooosits going on there], so I RUSHED out the door to roll the extra super heavy full trash cans out to the curb.
This house is on a hill, so the last part of the roll gets dodgy. Milhous was in his usual position of greatness atop the can, rolling down there like the King of the Hill.
somehow I got distracted or something, and I rolled that NINE MILLION POUND TRASH CAN right up onto my foot. Milhous slid forward but remained on his carriage.
You know that feeling when you know you’ve really fekking hurt yourself?
I hobbled into the house like a Revolutionary War hero with my fife, and I know I need to get a new joke but it works so well. I just needed a bloody strip around my forehead. Like a violent Olivia Newton John Adams.
Immediately it swelled. I texted my trainer and canceled.
So basically I was in a huge hurry because I had the trainer and I rushed outside with no shoes to roll the trash cans down because I had my trainer and then because I was in a hurry I missed my trainer.
Anyway today it hurts but I can walk on it, and the swelling is mostly gone and what I’d really like as a reward is a nice bruise to be impressive. Not that anyone sees me. But I’ll know in my heart.
Also, it’s probably terrible for you to wake up and immediately turn on the computer and start working, right? Like, you should ease into the day and not be a fireman copy editor where the alarm goes off and you slide down the grammar poll.
Do you like to watch chiropractic videos?
I realize that came out of nowhere, but in my head I was thinking that part of why I wake up and commence to working is because I don’t feel tired at night so when the alarm goes off in the morning I hit snooze like 109 times. Sometimes I watch YouTube videos of people getting adjusted when I can’t sleep, and while it makes me drowsy not one whit, it’s kind of fun to watch.
What do you do to get tired at night? Or are you already tired so it’s no problem? My grandfather? Anytime he sat in a comfortable chair he’d fall right asleep, but I think that’s because he worked different shifts and his sleep schedule was all fucked up.
Anyway tell me how you sleep. I don’t wanna get hooked on the Ambien so don’t suggest that. I’ll be one of those people who wakes up naked in the bear cage at the zoo.
HOLY CATS. There was just a huge boom. Ima go run and see what that was–sounded like on the next block.