I’m writing this on Sunday night because I’ll tell you why.
As you know, because you have your finger way in all things June, my f-a-v-o-r-i-t-e cat Iris has been at the vet getting radiated since about aught seven. At least it feels like aught seven. She’s been gone forever. She had to get radiated, then be swept off into in an isolation booth where she can’t hear her husband giving the answers on today’s episode of Tattletales with Bert Convy.
What is wrong with me? Why does my memory …memory so?
Anyway she had to be isolated, Iris did, but as of Monday the 31nsthrd it’s been two weeks, so you could even say it glows except you can’t cause she’s in the clear.
She won’t be radioactive anymore, in case you missed my point, and I can go get her and not die of Hiroshima.
Originally, my plan was to get her Saturday because I already missed two days of work last week having The World’s Awfulest Migraine and I didn’t want to miss more. So I was going to get her Saturday, then isolate her my own self in her Bert Convy isolation booth for two days until she was no longer Karen Silkwood cat.
But then we had this hurricaney weather, see, and everyone said Saturday was going to be awful, see, and my weather app said OHMYGOD RAIN and I woke up Saturday to a very dark, ominous sky, so I called the radiation place, which is 54 miles away, and said, “You know what? I think Ima come Monday instead.”
Then Saturday’s weather was fine. Now there’s a 100% chance of rain Monday.
Everything is stressy lately.
For example, and don’t you hate it when people write, “for example”? Just shut up and tell us. I also hate, “Fast-forward to…”
For example, rewind to Friday afternoon. I was killing myself to finish a deck. A deck is a presentation. I didn’t suddenly become a deck-builder with m’hammer. Anyway, it’s usually a PowerPoint, a deck is, that we present to a client and it needs to be lovely and perfect and also each page usually has about 27,000 tiny words on it and sometimes there are tables with maths.
So I was killing self to get one done Friday, when I got a message. “Oh, by the way, we have a deck we need by end of day.”
It was Friday at 4 p.m. I was already killing self to do a deck, did I mention?
“I’m already killing myself to get a deck done,” I said, getting the sweaty panicky feeling.
So they sent it to me anyway, but told me I could do it Monday if I did it first thing. Before I even peed. So what I did instead was work on it today, Sunday. The time I would have been spending working on it Monday morning is the time I will now be driving to get Iris, the radiated cat.
Also, on Friday, after I killed myself to get that deck done? And it was like 5:45 by the time I got it done. So I turned it in, then went to make dinner, which does not relax me as it does some of you cause it’s too new and the TIMING oh my god. That’s so hard. You can have a pork chop that still oinks if you eat now when the green beans are ready.
After that precision-timing expedition, I read my book on Harry and Meghan which was stupid, and anyway the next time I looked at my phone, I had a message. “Can you copy edit this real quick?”
I didn’t do it that night, but it was haunting me. So I did it first thing Saturday and got it over with, but I couldn’t really relax because I knew I had to work again Sunday so that I could get Iris Monday. And now I’ve done the Sunday work but I just feel like tomorrow’s gonna be awful because I have to drive in the driving rain to drive my point and cat home.
So I’m like one sleeve caught on a doorknob away from having some sort of explosive hissy fit. Is what I’m trying to tell you. I haven’t had that moment where you’re like, Ah. This is the life. Now I’m chill. I haven’t felt like that in, you know, a year. So.
Anyway, I’ve said the days of the week a lot in this post, and now it’s 9:38 on Sunday night, and I have to get to bed so I can arise and hydroplane all the way to Chapel Hill tomorrow. Maybe I’ll wake up and it will be lovely and sunny and the whole drive will be a delight and Iris will have a crown of flowers on her little cat head and she will have gained sight through radioactivity and when I write you again I’ll be all, That was a delight and also, Ah, this is the life.
But I doubt it.
P.S. Till Tuesday! Bah.