It's All Relative

I woke up this morning late, with 30 minutes before the kids had to be at school and an hour before I had to be at work. It was a mad, mad rush to get out the door on time, complete with a mini-meltdown from seven-year-old (I asked her to at least BRING a coat… what was I thinking?), an extra dose of smart-aleck-ery from my ten-year-old, missing toothbrushes, a stubbed toe, and breakfast in a baggy to eat in the car for all. Honey Bunches of Oats, no milk.

I got to work 30 minutes late to an in-box full of urgent “update needed” messages on projects that I received on 3:00pm on Friday (I don’t work the weekends and my hours are included in my signature line) and more requests for projects with less than half the information I need to even start them. After replying to everyone in kind, I began working on said projects only to be interrupted at least three times an hour by either my boss asking for project updates or fellow employees dropping their baskets. Apparently my 14x5 foot office is where it’s at when you’re having an emotional breakdown. I honestly don’t usually mind, unless there are people standing at the door with their faces pressed against the glass (yes, it’s a glass door) with a look of manic desperation in their eyes, waiting for me to enter their data or edit their manuscript as if it were a matter of life and death. Which there were today.

My last meeting ran long, so I had to run a half a mile to my car to make sure that I got to the school in time to pick up my children and avoid feeling even more like the Worst Mother Ever. Then I dealt with the Commute from Hell that included an unusually large amount of left-lane-cruisers, tailgaters, and law enforcement officers which put a damper on my initial plan to haul ass. I didn’t flip anyone the bird, though, and I only used one small bit of profanity with regards to the above mentioned fellow motorists (who were experiencing a collective moment of cognitive flatulence), and so I feel good about that. Unfortunately, I had to brave the kiss-and-go line (the most inefficient method of picking up children from school ever) and deal with people who feel that they are all more important and in more of a hurry than everyone else and nearly getting rear ended a total of four times.

Now, I am procrastinating entering even more data for at least a couple more hours this evening before I can completely unwind, which I won’t do because it won’t be enough. It never is. Happy Monday, folks! It’s time for a beer… or five.

That said, I just returned from taking one of my furry children to the vet. He has been pooping consistently one of the dinning room chairs. One of the nice dinning room chairs. He was diagnosed with “anal sac-itis”, a chronic inflammation of his anal glands that results in overly thick sebaceous discharge and occasional constipation due to pain. He had to have his anal glands expressed. He was humiliated and in pain. I could tell by the look in his eyes. And he blamed me for it. Can you blame him?

So the take home message here is: when you have a bad day, there is always someone (human or otherwise) who has it much, much worse. I may have had a long and frustrating commute and I may have had encounters with unusually unrealistic coworkers but I do NOT have anal-sac-itis. It's all relative.

Cheers!