Need a Better Work/Life Balance

Well Sunshine, I can already tell that today is going to be one damn rough day! I woke up this morning and couldn’t exactly use my right arm. At first, I thought I just slept on it funny had a kink in my neck and shoulder. As the morning wore on, the pain got worse though. My mother told me to just take a really hot shower, and that would help loosen me up. Oh, she could not have been more wrong!

I was trapped in the shower for almost 40 minutes because of the pain. It didn’t matter which hand I used when I tried to turn the faucet handle pain shot through my arm and neck to the point where I was immobilized. I was standing there, head up against the wall, bawling my eyes out and howling in pain, while hot water was pouring down on me. With my head propped against the wall, I somehow managed to turn off the shower with my foot after more than half a dozen attempts. I dried myself off, attempted to put my pj’s back on, and bawled my eyes out as I made my way back to the bedroom.

Thankfully, the Amazingly Awesome Boyfriend came home from work in the middle of this. He knows that I have a pretty high pain tolerance, and he looked pretty damn scared to see me crying in pain like that. I managed to put on my deodorant and coconut oil, but it took both of us to try and get some clothes on me. He tried to rub my back and shoulder for me a bit, but the pain was so intense I almost threw up on him. So after checking the hours of local clinics, he convinced me to call in sick to work so he could take me to the urgent care clinic.

I’m stubborn, so I never go to clinics. Usually, I just check WebMD, laugh at their diagnosis, and then just power through whatever is wrong with me. Today WebMD said I have two types of meningitis, West Nile (again), Lyme disease, a dislocated shoulder, and a broken neck. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I was a little disappointed with my visit to the clinic today. WebMD was definitely more fun! The doctor didn’t exam my shoulder and neck and didn’t even touch me.  She just asked me a few questions and sent me out of there with a few prescriptions. I have some pretty nice pain pills and a muscle relaxant I can take to help me sleep.

So today has been pretty strange. It hurts to move much, and I’ve cried a lot so far. I called in sick for the 3rd time in 4 years at this job, and am determined to make it for my evening inventory shift tomorrow. The pain pills are working pretty well, but I still hurt. I went out to the clinic, in public, in my pj’s and soaking wet hair without even drawing on some eyebrows. And the not-so-helpful Bowser Kitten can’t understand why I won’t pick him up or play fetch with him today.

So, I’m taking it easy today. Spent most of the day at my desk, working on some reports I have to bring to work tomorrow. Read some funny stories, looked at memes and cat videos, watched a little Drag Race. I’ve got a few magazines here I can browse through, some books that need reading, and games on my phone to keep me entertained. It’s weird, not being at work on a Saturday night. It also made me realize a whole lot of things I wish I could do, but can’t with this current job.

1) Brunch on weekends

I have a few friends I’ve been meaning to catch up with for ages, and most of them are looking for something to do on Saturday mornings. What could be a better way to keep in touch than around a table, surrounded by poached eggs and avocados? I used to get together with my sister, brother, and a few cousins once a month for brunch. When my cousins were too busy, me and my siblings went a few times. Then, I started having to work every single weekend and we just stopped getting together.

2) Farmers Markets

Again, these are Saturdays around here. I missed every single market downtown last year because of work and only made it to the west end market once the entire season. I used to love hitting up the market, buying things from local merchants, and trying new things.

3)Hitting up the markets across town

We have a really big market called Market Square, and another market just down the street from it. Again, it’s all local merchants and there is a huge variety of stuff there to explore. I used to go to the market with my dad, pick out some fancy meats or new veggies, grab some authentic polish sausage (or hit up one of the stands selling vegetarian substitutes just for me when dad wasn’t looking), and then just relax and snack on our new finds while we watched tv. I haven’t done that in years though.

4) Grocery shopping in general

AAB just came back from a run to the grocery store, and I couldn’t go with him because of this damn pain. I’m going through what he bought, looking at the receipt, and all I can focus on is the tiny cans of pop he bought me. They’re a pack of six 222mL cans, and two six packs are $5. My inner bargain shopper is screaming right now because I buy two six packs of the 710mL bottles for that price.  I just never have time to do a full, good grocery shop because of when I work. AAB has the van during the day, so I would have to walk to the store (which is right next to my work), load up on everything we need, take a cab back, unload everything and put it away, and then walk back up to the store to go to work. If anything, I usually run to the store on my break and grab a few small things. I miss being able to spend a good hour or so comparing prices, looking at flyers, planning meals, and working with a shopping list and a real budget.

5) Yoga

This pain in my shoulder and neck probably could have been avoided with proper stretching, or with just not sharing a tiny bed with AAB and the super long Bowser Kitten. Truth is, I used to be pretty bendy and flexible. I could never do the splits for some reason, but I never got stiff or sore because when I would read or write I was always in super weird positions. But lately everything is done at my desk, and my only exercise (especially since my fall) has been walking to and from work. I miss being bendy and not sore and wish I had time for the kitten yoga classes they have on weekends across town.

I know it doesn’t sound like much, but I absolutely love these things. For me a perfect weekend would involve a brunch with my sister and brother or a few friends, a yoga lesson or two (and maybe one or two during the week, if I had a schedule I could actually work around), a trip to the Multifoods and to the grocery store near work, and hitting up the market and/or farmers market. I could do a little food prep, make my snack bags, sip on some tea (and wine), and curl up with a good book at night.

But instead, I have this strange schedule that is impossible for me to work around. AAB gets up for work by 6:20am, which usually wakes me up. I either wake up with him or try to nap for an hour or two if I was up later the night before. I drink coffee, check social media, do a bit of writing or read some of my research (which I’m super behind in), and then start on the cleaning. There is somehow always so much cleaning to do. Between the cleaning, trying to write, the oh-so-distracting Bowser Kitten, and attempting to cook something healthy for lunch instead of mac’n’cheese yet again, I don’t hop in the shower until a little after noon usually. After a brief hair and makeup break, I try to clean up a bit more or get started on some sort of project here. But by the time 2pm rolls around, it’s too late to start any big projects or go anywhere before work. Depending on my start time, I’m out the door sometime between 3pm and 4:30pm and am at work until just before 9:30pm. AAB likes to eat right before bed, so he waits for me to come home before he eats dinner. Unless I get stuck in a YouTube loop (thanks, WatchMojo) or actually pick up one of the dozens of books I need to read around here, we’re both in bed by 10:30pm. Even if I get a giant to-do list done in a day, it feels like a whole wasted day of nothing.

I miss being able to feel like I accomplished something in my day. I miss being able to buy my mushroom meat anytime I want it. I miss the smell of the European market and the sight of the giant fish swimming in their tanks just waiting to be killed at the Asian market. I miss green tea and yoga on a Saturday afternoon and hurting myself laughing over granola and poached eggs. I guess this schedule just makes me feel trapped. Having a day off, regardless of the immense pain I’m in, was a bit of a blessing. It’s helping me to see the things that are really important to me when considering a work-life balance, other than the usual “I need time with AAB and to cook dinner sometimes”.

Before I have to take my muscle relaxer (which supposedly will make me goofy), I think I’ll work on a few job applications. The one I’m working on the hardest inspired a post I have in my drafts to work, about the pains of the job hunt. I think I’ll work on it more once I’m done with the pains of having nerves and muscles.



My Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad (Mon)Day

I read a theory a little while ago, and have been driving myself mad trying to find it again. I just want to give credit where credit is due for its sheer brilliance. I’ve been reading comic strips since I was 4, and have a very small collection of Garfield books in the office, and somehow this never dawned on me.  You see, Garfield hates Mondays. It’s a huge running joke in the comics. He just can’t stand the thought of having a Monday each and every week and makes a big deal about how something goes wrong each and every Monday.  Everyone always laughed along with him, like “Oh you silly cat, I hate Mondays too!”

But people hate Mondays because that’s (traditionally, not in retail) the start of the work week. After spending the weekend running errands, grabbing drinks, relaxing, maybe cleaning up the house, everyone has to trudge back to the office bright and early Monday morning for yet another exciting work week of sitting at a desk and wishing they were anywhere but there.  People hate Mondays. Garfield isn’t people though: Garfield the Cat is a damn cat. He doesn’t have a job. He sits around the house drop-kicking Odie, eating lasagna, and sleeping with his teddy bear. He has absolutely no reason to hate Mondays because the start of the work week has absolutely no bearing on his schedule. If anything, he should love Mondays because that would be the day Jon goes back to work for the week and Garfield can nap without interruption.

Unless that’s the reason Garfield hates Mondays. Jon goes back to work, meaning he’s not there with Garfield for a good 8-10 hours a day. After spending an entire weekend being at home with his pets, Jon has to head back to the grind and leave his pets behind for a few hours every day. Garfield doesn’t hate Mondays because it’s the start of his week, he hates Mondays because it’s the start of Jon’s week. Monday is the day Jon has to leave after spending the weekend together. Garfield’s hatred of Mondays is actually his own little way of saying that he loves Jon, and doesn’t want him to leave.

I can’t believe I never saw it that way before.

Well, I had a Monday this week that would make anyone hate the day! My Monday events started thanks to Sunday’s actions, which were a result of what happened in my last post the end of last week, which I’m sure all leads back to Kevin Bacon somehow. The Amazingly Awesome Boyfriend and I had a big talk about his drinking and the person he becomes when he’s drunk, and he decided to make some pretty major changes in his lifestyle. To show that he was serious about this, he decided to do something that he had been promising me he would do for weeks now. When I came home from work on Sunday night, AAB was one his knees in the kitchen, scrubbing out the oven. He had some bright pink rubber gloves on and was spraying super thick layers of oven cleaner while he scrubbed.

Now, our oven hadn’t been cleaned in years. Yes, I know that’s nasty. But even my clean-freak ex-roommate didn’t clean the damn thing. Everything else in the damn kitchen is scrubbed and sanitized at least once a week. It’s just that damn oven that I never seemed to get around to. Damn.

I sat on the floor with the cautiously curious Bowser Kitten, sipping wine and updating AAB on the current work drama while he scrubbed away. I’d get up and grab him paper towels and scrubbing cloths as needed, but generally just let him do his thing. He must have been scrubbing that thing for a good hour and wound up with a plastic bag full of paper towels soaked in oven cleaner. After washing up and taking out the trash, he started dinner. He had been wanting to try two different recipes for pork ribs all week and was going to do both at the same time. After he threw everything in the freshly cleaned oven, I curled up with my wine and kitten on the couch to start season 9 of RuPaul’s Drag Race.

After dinner, I stayed up a bit later than AAB and started to feel really weird. I tried to get some sleep, but the room started spinning. After lying down for an hour or so, I found myself running for the bathroom. I spent the majority of the night either waiting for the room to stop spinning, or bent over the toilet losing my dinner. Just when my stomach finally started to calm down so I could get a little sleep, AAB’s alarm started going off.

After he finally left for work, I tried to just lay down and nap for a bit. I got up a few times and threw up what little was left in my system, and got a good 2 hours of sleep in. A bit before noon I started feeling restless from not doing anything and decided to put away the dishes from the night before. Except when I went to grab the first dish, it slipped out of my hand. It seems AAB did the dishes after a few drinks, and they were all covered in grease. So, had to rewash all the dishes plus do what was left of the dishes from the night before.

By now, I was feeling a little bit better. I decided to try and make the moo shu chicken recipes I had up on my computer for a good week. I threw my chicken in the marinade, threw it back in the fridge, and decided to check the oven for any dishes AAB may have left in there. He has a bad habit of throwing pans in there to get them out of the way. There were no pans in there, but I did figure out why I felt so sick.

It seems that when AAB finished up the oven while I was in the other room, he didn’t actually rinse any of the cleaner out of the oven. He soaked up a whole tonne of it with paper towels, but the entire inside of the oven was coated with a thick layer of toxic cleaner. You know, the same oven AAB used to cook us dinner in the night before?  He cooked our ribs and potatoes in chemicals. Basically, I ate oven cleaner for dinner and spent the night throwing up.

Of course, now I had to clean the oven out. I pulled out the racks, grabbed my sponges, and got to work scrubbing the inside. Somehow, while I was nowhere near the light bulb but still inside the oven, the bulb just decided to burst. It was so loud and sudden, I jumped. While inside the oven.  Slammed my head into the top off the oven pretty hard, while slamming my left elbow into the outer edge hard enough to bring tears to my eyes.

After a quick concussion check and a shower, grabbed the mail. My day was starting to look up because there was a package from the website I ordered my new glasses from. I ripped open the package and tried on my new glasses, only to find out I can’t see a damn thing with them on. After checking the purchase order in the box, came to find out that they somehow inverted my prescription. My eyes are two completely different strengths (-7.25 and -5.75), and they put the left lens in the right side of the frame and vice versa. It took me close to an hour and a half between their live web chat and a phone call to get everything straightened out. Put those glasses back in the mail, and have new ones on order as we speak.

Finally got around to making that Moo Shu Chicken. It looks absolutely amazing. No clue how it tastes though because my stomach was too upset to even try it. So after cooking a bug lunch (with leftovers) that smelled amazing, I had to put it all in Tupperware and put it in the fridge while I munched on crackers and a bit of cheese instead. It was the safest thing I could think of to put in my rumbling tummy.

Finally, settle in at my desk to finish getting ready for work and do a little reading when my phone starts ringing. It’s my coworkers wondering where the hell I am. I’ve been starting at 5:15pm for days now and was on autopilot to get there for that time. Too bad my shift started at 4:15pm, and AAB wasn’t home with the van yet to drive me there ASAP. Grabbed my gear, strapped on my steel toes, and walked to work at full speed, somehow managing not to fall down in any potholes this time. Only wound up starting half an hour late, which wasn’t bad. My coworkers were great about it though. They weren’t upset that I was late. I’m never late. I usually show up a good 30 minutes early for my shifts just in case it’s super busy and they need me to start early. When I wasn’t there by 4:15 they were legitimately worried. They thought I had fallen on my way in again and was laying in the middle of the sidewalk while people just walked around me.

The rest of the night went pretty smoothly until my uterus decided to remind me of its existence. Because cramps seemed like the absolute perfect end to the day.

It’s Tuesday now. AAB made a nice ham for dinner last night, and I found out later in the night what it feels like to throw up ham so violently that it comes out your nose. Made the same discovery with my coffee this morning, too.  It’s 1pm now, and I’m still in my pj’s. I slept on the couch last night (to be closer to the bathroom), and have barely started my to-do list for the day. I made my “bed”, wrote this, did some dishes, and turned down a shift at work because I already work 6 days a week and need a day off, especially when I’m puking out my nose. Going to get a little cleaning done in the living room, take a nice hot bath, and get some laundry done later when the energy rates go down. Dinner is in the crockpot, and I might make some more cereal bars later.

Well, I don’t want to get too ambitious. I mean, there’s always the chance that this could turn into a very Monday-esque Tuesday.

“You’re Lucky I’m Not Beating You”

It was yet another fun-filled night with the Amazingly Awesome Boyfriend. Everything had started innocently enough earlier in the day. I did my taxes online, and he was wondering if I could do his this weekend for him. Of course, I agreed to, but said I had some ‘non-monetary fees’ he had to agree to first: for two whole weeks, Monday to Friday, no hard liquor and no drinking during the day or before work.

Now, for most people, this would be a very simple thing. But a year ago, AAB was doing all those things to the extreme. He was drinking heavily during working hours, drinking as soon as he woke up in the morning, and continuing on until he went to bed at night. He was beyond broke, spending every last dime on alcohol. But a year ago, he went to go “dry out” and to start getting his life together. He swore to me that there would be no more morning booze, no more day drinking during work hours, and no more hard liquor. Every night after work, he would buy two or three beers or coolers from the store I work at, and he was fine. Over time, a few of the rules were bent a little bit. Every Saturday when he’s done work for the week he picks up a 26 of whiskey. And when he has a really really rough day at work, he will very occasionally pick up a half-mickey of whiskey for the evening.

In January, I caught him with a cooler at 6:30am while he was getting ready for work. He swore that it was a one-time thing until I caught him again a few days later. He swore that he only started doing that when I was working my 6am shift for the holidays since he was up so early with me every day. Then I caught him going to other liquor stores, trying to hide what he was buying from me so that I wouldn’t know he was buying whiskey. He was once again hiding booze around the house, trying to drink behind my back. I would go to pull the Tide-scented Bowser Kitten out of his laundry basket, only to have a half-empty mickey of whiskey fall out at my feet. What I thought was more than 8 months of him doing so well with his quasi-sobriety was crumbling before my eyes.

So when I saw the opportunity present itself, I made my two-week proposal to him. He kept saying that he needed to get back on track, and he wanted to dry out a bit. I figured this would be the perfect opportunity for him to do so. Instead, he told me he couldn’t do it. He’s fine giving up the hard liquor during the week, and not drinking during work hours. But he refused to agree not to drink in the morning because apparently he’s been doing that since he went to dry-out a year ago. He’s been doing this for a year, all the while he’s been swearing to me that he wasn’t doing it. He was lying to my face for an entire year.

And that’s where the fight began. He argued that it really isn’t a big deal that he’s been doing this because he’s been functioning just fine every day. I have no right to be mad at him for lying to me about it because he was only lying to me to protect me from his drinking. I tried to tell him that I was embarrassed and pissed off because I had spent the last year believing in him and trusting him, only to find out I was a fool and he was doing this behind my back. That’s where the real gems started flowing from his mouth.

“Hun, that’s why I lied. I hide things from you, so you won’t be embarrassed about me hiding things from you”


“You’re only upset because you’re a woman. Women take things to heart. Guys say shit, and then they’re jsut over it and can be buds. You’re just too girly.”


“I didn’t mean [insert mean personal comment] when I said it. I just say shit like that because I know it hurts you. I don’t mean it, I just want to hurt you.”

He went on like that the entire time we were cooking dinner, and well into eating dinner. He picked on my self-esteem, my work schedule, my job, and even my eyesight at one point. Every time I tried to make a point or ask a question, he would talk over me. He would raise his voice over me again and again, and then flip out when I raised my voice to try and be heard. I told him time and time again that the drinking itself wasn’t the issue right now. I understand that he is an alcoholic, and we agreed to a maintenance program as opposed to complete abstinence. If one small cooler in the morning is what he needs, either physically or psychologically, then that’s something we can work around. It was the constant lying and the smug way he rubbed it in my face that he had gotten away with it for so long that was the real issue.

Now, as I always say, I am by no means a perfect person or a perfect girlfriend. I’m sure there are things I said wrong, or things I should have said that I didn’t. I shouldn’t have raised my voice as often as I did, especially since I was doing so out of sheer frustration. And I shouldn’t have let him get to me so badly. But he said one thing that, no matter what I said or did wrong last night, he had no right to say.

“Look, it’s just a drink. Why are we fighting? I mean, you’re lucky I’m not beating or slapping you around. Just let it go, consider yourself lucky.”

He looked me in the eye and said the words “you’re lucky I’m not beating you”. Seriously, he said that, meant that, and honestly thought I should be happy with his lies because things could always be worse.

And I didn’t just stand up and leave him right then and there.

I feel horrible today. I feel like the biggest hypocrite in the world. I have spent years telling friends that if a man ever talks to you that way, you leave his ass. It doesn’t matter if you love him, he obviously doesn’t love you. But here I am, sitting at my desk in our shared bedroom, where I’m going to have to sleep next to him tonight because I’m not strong enough to leave him.

Right now I don’t know what I’m going to do. I know he would never actually hit me. He’s never thrown a real punch in his life, and we both know that I’m strong enough to more than defend myself against him. When we first started dating he wanted me to slap him for some reason; he thought it would be funny. When I refused, he slapped me across the face. I slapped him back, and then lifted him up over my shoulders and walked him to the door. I told him then that he was being drunk and stupid, so I wasn’t making him leave. But if he ever raised a hand to me again, I would have no problem dumping his ass on the porch and locking him out. And now here I am, doing absolutely nothing about last night.

I know it was somewhat the booze talking. We have these fights all the time though, and they’re just getting worse. He seems to think this is normal, that after every fight things will just go back to normal. He thinks he can say and do whatever he wants, and in the end, we’ll just be together no matter what.

After last night, though, I don’t know how much of this I can take.


Apparently the World is Ending

I had the doctors appointment today to get the results of the massive amount of bloodwork and tests that were done on me in the last month and a half. I decided that I’d brave the local transit system to get there since it’s normally a relaxing ride and I really wanted to go hear the doctor tell me I’m perfect. I normally love this day. I have a bizarrely functional liver that always throws doctors for a loop. I even had a weird scan of my liver done once, just to make sure my body wasn’t somehow fooling the other tests they normally run. Turns out I just have the liver of straight-edge vegan teen, despite all the abuse I’ve given the poor thing over the years. Hearing a new doctor compliment my freaky liver and riding two buses while observing the other riders is usually heaven for me. Top it all off with a coffee date with my mother, and it’s the recipe for the perfect day.

Today was different, though. You see, today there was construction. Apparently, construction rerouting buses is the end of the world in this little border town.

The first bus I took was completely normal. I grabbed a seat near the back, people rudely shoved their way to the seats around me and took up two seats at a time so that their clutch or coffee could have its own seat. I just kept to myself, headphones in, watching the neighbourhoods pass outside the window. I just sat there until we got downtown to the bus depot where I could transfer to the bus that takes me right to the doctor’s office.

Now to start, there were no signs anywhere that there was any issue with the bus routes for those of us who do not take any of the 4 buses that pass through downtown on the main drag every day. I even check the city’s website for public transit this morning, and there was no notice that any routes were changed for the time being. I did see an article posted in the local paper last week that there would be construction downtown, but it didn’t say when it would start.

With that being said, I did somewhat panic when the bus started down a different route than it normally takes. But the driver announced that yes we were on the right bus, we just needed a slight detour due to construction. There were temporary bus stops set up along the new route, and the woman across from me explained to another rider that the regular stops had signs directing people to the temporary stops. All in all, it was pretty straightforward.

By the second stop, the trouble had started. The bus driver had to open the door at every stop, announce to the waiting riders what bus we were, and wait to see if anyone boarded. There were half a dozen people waiting at that stop, and even after the driver announced what bus we were each and every one of them had to step into the bus and ask what bus we were. Did I mention that there’s a big flashing sign on the front of every bus announcing what bus it is? Somehow every single person, both young and old, missed the flashing sign, the driver’s announcement, and the driver’s answer to every single person ahead of them.

It was the fourth stop where things got messy though. Two women got on the bus to ask what bus it was, even though the seven people before them had just asked the same thing. They paid their fare and started loudly complaining as they attempted to find seats on the half-empty bus.

“Seriously Brenda, they expect us to walk all the way to this new stop for how long??? It’s like a whole block further!! What the hell?”

“Preach Karen! I mean, this is going to completely throw off our schedules. Don’t these drivers realize we have better things to do than go running all over town looking for wherever the hell they feel like stopping? I have shoes to buy and a coupon to use!”

I know, it sounds like two Valley Girl teens from a cheap 90’s comedy trying to ride the bus, and it only got worse from there. These women were in their late-40’s, maybe early-50’s with some work done.

“Like, why would they even move stops? Just don’t construct stuff when I need to go out, is it that hard?”

“Yeah, it’s like sorry people smart enough not to buy a car, but we hate you. What the hell is up with that?”

They were still VERY slowly walking past the few taken seat and getting closer to me. Now, I’ll say that I may be used to the smell of body odor to a certain degree thanks to my job (my store is next to a gym, and a lot of people stop in after their workout and before their shower), but I can still smell it. There was NO smell in the back of that bus that I could sense. There were four of us in that back end, and we all smelled pretty damn good. Not good enough for Karen and Brenda, though.

“Holy pancakes!* Someone back there doesn’t know how to shower! How the hell are we supposed to move to the back of the bus if we can’t breathe back there?”

“My eyes are watering, and this mascara cost me $47!  That damn driver needs to do his job and keep the damn riff-raff off the bus! I mean, he’s practically like the bus bouncer.”

They stood there making a big production of fanning themselves and gagging, all the while standing in the middle of the bus so no one could go around them to get to the back. The driver came to a few more stops while they stood there complaining, and the front of the bus was filling up pretty fast. The driver yelled for everyone standing to move to the back of the bus, and these women were not having it.

“You have a lot of nerve yelling at us like that! I mean, what the hell do you expect us to do?”

They were really not impressed when the answer to that question was “move to the back of the bus”.  The front of the bus was filling up, more passengers were complaining about the moved stops and detour, and now three women had to find new seats because they were sitting on the flip-up seat where wheelchair passengers ride, and a woman in a wheelchair was trying to board. The bus driver freakin bellowed for everyone to move to the back of the bus, but these two women would not budge or let anyone by them. Finally, two students who transferred onto this bus with me shoved the women out of their way so they could give up their seats and move to the back.

“Can you believe the nerve of these damn millennials, thinking they can go wherever the hell they want? I mean, back in MY day we knew how to respect our damn elders! I mean, seriously Karen, can you imagine ever pushing a real adult out of your way just so you and your friend can gossip in the back of the bus together?”

“Oh I know, all these millennial brats think the world owes them something! Wait, why isn’t the bus moving? Why is the driver just standing there? Come on, do your job already! We have very important places to be!”

The driver was trying to harness this woman’s wheelchair in, in the overly crowded front of the bus that couldn’t move because of these two women.  The more he tried to move, the more he would bump into people. Soon the whole front of the bus was yipping at him because the detour had inconvenienced them slightly and they were crammed together like sardines.

And you know what? Those two women barely moved. They took a few steps towards the back of the bus once, which just put them right in front of the rear exit doors in the middle of the bus. The back of the bus was more than half empty, with plenty of seats together, and these two wouldn’t just grab a seat and get the hell out of the way. And the more they gabbed and complained, the more it made other people complain too.

Apparently, it was personally our bus driver’s fault that the bus had been detoured for a few blocks. It was entirely his fault that the bus was too full, even though it really wasn’t. This poor man was to blame for the non-existent stink in the back of the bus, the bumpy ride on the soon-to-be-repaved streets, the noise level of the other passengers,  and the economy. Yes, the economy. At one point I heard someone complain that the bus driver is over-paid, and that’s what’s ruining our local economy. This one man’s salary to drive these intolerable stuck-up adult brats around is apparently obscenely high, even though we all know it isn’t because we all know how much they make. It was in the paper months ago during a contract dispute.

Eventually, we got to my stop. I had to try and squeeze past these two women so that I could get off the bus when it stopped, and they sure as hell didn’t make it easy. When I tried to sneak by behind them, they purposefully backed up into me and then complained that I was crowding their personal space. When I tried again, they did it again. So finally, I did the only thing I could think of to do in that situation: I squeezed in between them and dropped a wickedly nasty fart, and then ran out the door.

These two women were the worst, but almost everyone in the front of that bus the whole ride were just like them! It was like the fact that the bus stops were moved over one block threw the entire universe into a tailspin and was sure to bring about the apocalypse. People were seriously pissed that the city has the nerve to repair the roads in this town when they know it will inconvenience people. Of course, these are the very same people who complained about how bumpy the roads were the entire ride.



*yes, this Karen actually said “holy pancakes” in public.


The Tale of the Couple That Damn Near Broke Me

Financial panic. I had a few weeks here with almost no hours before they started slowly increasing. Now I’m obsessively doing things to try and better myself. I’m making my game plan to scrub this house down completely, now that my knees will bend properly after my fall. I’m writing more, and going through the giant stacks of research I have piled around the bedroom. I’m going through all my usual job search sites, looking for something to help me afford to pay my bills and pay off my debt. I cut back on my drinking quite a bit too. I’d usually have 2 or 3 glasses of wine a night to help me relax. With the exception of a glass of wine Thursday night after my fall, and a bit of sparkling wine in my juice last night with dinner, I didn’t drink since last weekend. I switched over to fruit juices mixed with club soda. It’s helped me get up early each day feeling awake and refreshed, instead of going back to sleep for another 2 hours.

I’m trying to put myself out there in a bunch of different ways. Usually, this makes me feel really great like a giant weight is being slowly lifted from my shoulders. But my anxiety is getting in the way of that feeling this time. It seems like the smallest thing can make that feeling go away. I’m trying my best to push through it, but working in customer service makes it pretty damn hard. The nasty customers are starting to get to me.  I had a couple of Saturday night that just made me slam my head into the counter. Seriously, I dropped my head onto the counter when they left, and the customer in line behind them just said, “Take your time. That was rough.” And they had only seen my interactions with them during the sale, not the part that happened before that!

So, here is the story of a couple who damn near broke me. As usual, in order to comply with my company’s social media policy, certain details have been changed to protect the identities of those involved, and so that you can’t figure out exactly where I work. I guess they think the 7 of you out there reading this are going to incite a riot in my store to try and protect me from nasty customers or something. So anyway….

The Tale of the Couple That Damn Near Broke Me

Saturday night started out like a regular night. I was working my favourite register by the door, chatting away with customers and checking ID’s. I had the usual mix of pleasant people, happy to be getting supplies for their weekend of relaxing, and moody young folk upset that I need to see their ID before letting them buy certain things. I’m a very bubbly but strict cashier, so I’m used to people trying to give me a hard time. I can brush it off a good 99% of the time.

Then that 1% walked up to my counter. They had a cooler bag with them, and inside was two very large bottle of pre-mixed drinks that we sell. Both bottles were a little more than half-way full, so neither of them was sealed. Store policy is that no one can return an opened product unless there is something wrong with it, and they’re willing to make a product complaint. We take down all of their information and send the product off to be tested to see if there was something seriously wrong with it. Usually, if we get something back for a complaint, then other stores in our chain are getting the same thing returned to them. We get a notice from HQ telling us to pull the product while they investigate.

So Mr. and Mrs. Wankerpants come up to my counter, put their cooler bag down, and ‘Karen’ launches into her story.

“We were away on vacation a while back and bought this bottle here. We put it in the fridge when we got home, and then we saw the same product in a different location. So we bought it there, too. They don’t look the same, so we opened them and each had a glass of each one. It didn’t make us sick or anything, and it tasted fine. But we want out money back for these. There’s obviously something wrong with one of them.”

Now I’m not allowed to just give people back their money. There’s a certain process to everything. So I offered to run to the office, just a few feet away, and grab my manager so they could talk to him. No returns at all can get processed without a manager or shift leader’s say-so.

Well, Karen wasn’t having any of that!

“Well, wait! Look, you can see right here that the bottles are totally the same. The labels are identical even! These are supposed to be the same drink! But this one (holds up the first one they bought) is almost white, it’s so damn light! Look how blue this other one is! This looks like all the others on the shelves! There has to be something wrong here. Just give me our money back and we’ll forget the whole thing.”

Every time I tried to leave my till to go get my manager, Karen would start yammering on again about the colour difference, and how they bought it in a different town. It took at least three more tries before I was able to convince her that I was just grabbing the manager so he could enter a ‘return code’ into the register so I could return their things.

My manager isn’t an idiot. He and I both know that if you think there’s something wrong with the ginormous bottle of blue freeze you just bought, you don’t drink a good liter of it before returning it. He tried to explain to the couple that we couldn’t take the bottle unless they did a product complaint, which means we would have to enter all of their contact info into our computer. It’s a safety thing, in case your food or drink somehow really was poison, so we can contact you and let you know. But the Wankerpants couple was having none of that.  Karen kept trying to shut us down every time we opened our mouths.

“We don’t want to cause a huge fuss here. We’ll just take our money back. No need to send this away or anything, we don’t want to cause you all that trouble.”

We tried to tell her, yet again, that in order to return the bottle we needed to send it away for testing. If there’s a serious problem with one bottle, then there could be a problem with a whole batch of this stuff. We needed to make sure that there’s nothing in that bottle that can seriously harm your health.

“Well, there’s just no need for that! I mean, we each had a little glass and we’re both fine! This can’t be poison or dangerous, it’s just a little off. We’ll just take our money back and leave.”

We tried a different approach. There was a scandal a few years back where someone out there somehow was getting into juice bottles without breaking the seal on them. They could extract all the juice, and then refill the bottle with water. Then they would return them to the store, where they would be put back on the shelf. Eventually, someone would buy the bottle, open it up, and find water where there should be OJ. With people out there capable of that, we can’t just take back a bottle without sending it off to be tested. Then we’d be able to find the tiny traces of tampering that method leaves behind to prove what happened.

“Oh, I’m sure no one did that to our bottle! I mean, it didn’t look tampered with when we bought it! Just give us our money and we’ll leave.”

Ok, one last try. At this point, the boss flat out tells Karen and her hubby that he’s not returning her items because they are open. That means that anyone, at any time, could’ve put anything in that bottle and then brought it in to return it. He used our version of the “it’s not you, it’s me” speech: “We’ve been burned enough times by people trying to scam us that it ruins things for good honest people like yourself”.

What he didn’t tell them was that there is no way in hell that only one bottle of this stuff could be tainted like that without someone tampering with it. The colour difference was ridiculously obvious, and this is a very popular product for some reason. Even in our little store, we have a few dozen bottles of this in stock at all times, even more in the summer when people freeze it into slushies to drink on their patios. Someone (a stock person, the cashier who served them, someone unloading the truck) would’ve noticed this one bottle that looked nothing like any of the others. It would’ve been pulled from the stock and sent away for testing. And then we would’ve gotten the recall notices to pull all stock until testing was done, just to be safe.

And how do we know that there weren’t more bottles like this? Because if an entire batch of this stuff went out like this, we would’ve heard from HQ immediately after it had been unloaded at the first store. There would’ve been a mass recall, which would’ve made the news. We all would’ve heard about it. That means that this one individual bottle is the only one of its kind. And since it was bought from a store while they were on vacation in a town that is home to our flagship store (ie., the very last store that would ever let something like this out of their store because they’re just that strict about everything), then it must have been altered after it left the store.

In short, Mr. and Mrs. Wankerpants were trying to pull a fast one on us and didn’t expect anyone with a brain to be working retail.  Mr. Wankerpants caught on that they weren’t getting any money out of us, and finally opened his mouth.

“Come on hun, let’s just get our shopping done. This isn’t Costco, where they actually care about their customers.”

They wandered off into the store, little cooler bag all sealed up in their shopping cart. Security had to watch them to make sure they didn’t try to slip anything else into that stupid bag. Every now and then they’d wander past my till and Karen would practically yell out, “You’re right dear. At [K-Mart/Freshco/Target/WalMart/some other big store] they know how to treat their customers, not like here!”. Seriously, she must have said it like 7 times. They wandered around the store for what felt like forever, only to come back up to my register with Perrier and hotdogs. $43 worth of Perrier and hotdogs, to be exact.

I kept my customer service face on, smiling while I rang everything through. I asked for their points card and gave them their total. So, Karen pulls out a roll of loonies and a bag full of change. I took her roll of loonies and opened the ends to make sure it really was full of loonies, just like we’re trained to do.

“Oh look, Gerald, now we’re counterfeiting money too! I guess we really branched out from being common bootleggers like these idiots think.”

Right then and there, I had enough. I knew I couldn’t snap back at her, so I just dumped out all the change onto my counter. Then I counted out her damn $43 in the slowest, longest way possible. Why take a quarter when I can take five nickles? Oops, I think I miscounted those loonies, I’d better start from the beginning. I just dragged it out as long as possible.

Finally, I was through with them. I packed up their things, told them to have a nice day, and turned to greet my next customer. That’s when Karen had to get in one last barb at me.

“You know dear, I really don’t think customer service is your thing. You don’t really care about the customers. Maybe you should try going back to school, getting an education. Do you think you could find a school that would take someone like you?” Then she smirked at me and walked out the door.

And that’s when my head hit the counter. Luckily the next customer in line was someone I know, who also works retail in our little plaza, and who is in the same boat as me.

Look here Karen, I have an education! I’ve got two university degrees (BA[H] Criminology, BA Psychology), a college certificate (Certificate of Office Administration), and computer training (Microsoft Level III equivalency in both Word and Excel, with Intermediate level training in PowerPoint, Access, Outlook, and OneNote). I’m drowning in student loan and credit card debt, all so I could find myself a job where the Karens of the world wouldn’t be able to talk down to me like that. As it turns out, everyone has their Karens and everyone had the same idea. There are so many grads out there, with not enough jobs that we trained for to go around, that a whole tonne of us wind up working the very jobs our Karens think are beneath her. After hearing for years and years that without an education I’d wind up working retail, the very same people are telling me to be grateful I work in retail, and maybe I just need more education.

This just set off all kinds of things in my head. I was doing so well all week, and this one bitch set it all back. I feel like I’m just wasting my life right now like I’ll never amount to anything. If I didn’t have all of this debt, I would love to just keep the job I have forever. I love my coworkers and my friends from work. They’re like a second family to me. But I spent so much time and money trying to achieve certain things, and I just never did. And now I just feel like nothing.

I know, I can’t let one customer get me down, especially someone like the Wankerpants couple. They just struck a nerve that’s been exposed for too long.


I’m Gonna Feel That For A While

Hey there Sunshine, I am hurting pretty bad today! This morning it took me almost 45 minutes of slowly bending and stretching my legs and knees just to be able to sit cross-legged on the bed with the very curious Bowser Kitten who couldn’t figure out why the hell I wasn’t jumping out of bed to pull out his box of toys first thing this morning.

As many of you know I am extremely accident prone, but only for small things. I am constantly knicking my fingers with blades at work, or tripping over the empty box I just put down next to me yet somehow didn’t see. The Work BFF and I are notorious for our slips and spills. Just this week we took turns watching the security video of her wiping out in front of the registers, jumping back up, and going about her day like nothing happened. Aside from the time I twisted my back trying to avoid taking a wine bottle to the face, we never get seriously hurt at work.

Outside of work, however, is a whole different story. The morning of New Year’s Eve, we both showed up early for our beloved 6am shift. I had been getting small bumps, bruises, and scrapes all season on this shift, and only managed to get one minor back injury, so I thought we were doing pretty. That is until I saw WBFF walk through the parking lot up to the store. In the glow of the morning street lights, I saw the bruises and swelling all over her face. Her lips were swollen and sticking out like little Cindy Lou Who down in Whoville. She had a black eye, a scabby chin, and a bandaged and swollen finger that she would find out weeks later was broken. Inside the safety of our store, surrounded by forklifts, sharp knives, heavy boxes of easily breakable glass liquor and wine bottles, and a constantly wet floor from the store, she was the epitome of poise and grace in avoiding injuries. On a toboggan hill, it was the exact opposite.

We’ve been teasing each other about our out-of-work slips and spills since then. Usually, all that’s injured is our pride, and maybe a fingernail or cup of tea. Yesterday was the exception to that.

I walk the same route to work every day. Sometimes I stop in the little variety store on the corner, sometimes I stop and talk to the Huskey puppies on the next corner, but it’s mostly just the exact same thing day after day. It’s a safe route, no major obstacles to get around, nothing dangerous to aware of.

Or so I thought.

I was minding my own business, just walking across the road towards the little convenience store. I wasn’t playing on my phone, or chewing gum and trying to walk. I was just walking along, checking the traffic stopped at the stop sign. Maybe it was the fact that everything seemed so normal that made me not notice the fresh, new pothole in the middle of my path. I may not have noticed it, but the toe of my boot sure did.

Do you have any idea the kind of force required to tear the leather on a pair of steel toe boots? I don’t mean to scuff them or to buff the shine off. I mean there is a chunk of the leather gouged out of the toe of my left boot, barely hanging on but a little leather thread, right where my toe made contact with the edge of the pothole. My foot went into the hole, my knee buckled a bit, and then my toe made contact with the edge. At the speed I walk, that was all it took to send my flying with my foot stuck in a hole. Now, you don’t fly very far when your foot it stuck like that, but you still move with the same force. If you can’t move forward anymore, then that force is going to be directed downward. As in, you’re falling a hell of a lot harder than planned.

I hit the ground knees first, miraculously not ripping my favourite work jeans. The force of the fall was enough to send my backpack flying up over my head, smacking me in the face before I hit the ground. This twisted me around, so after my knees absorbed the full force of my fall, I seemed to fall all over again onto my left side of my chest. Somehow, I didn’t hit my face or head at all in all of this, although I did manage to knock the wind out of myself.

So just picture this now. I’m laying in the middle of the street. I can’t get any air in my lungs. I can feel blood starting to flow and pool on my knees, one of which I can’t move at all. I am in the middle of the street, pretty much motionless after what probably looked like a seriously horrible fall. There were five cars lined up at the stop signs traveling in the same direction as me when I fell, with possibly more that I didn’t see. Now, guess how many people came over to see if I was ok.


Guess how many people came over to help me up, get me out of the road and out of the way of any possible traffic that may come.


Guess how many people took the few seconds out of their day to roll down their window and holler out to me to see if I was ok.


I laid there in the middle of the road for at least half a minute, trying to get up. I couldn’t bend my left leg at all and was still having trouble breathing, so I did a weird crawl on my hands and feet to the other side of the road, where I could crawl up the sidewalk to a mailbox and pull myself up using that. It was quite the scene I’m sure, which took a few minutes. In that time, I heard even more cars drive past me. Still, no one stopped to see what the hell was wrong with the crazy lady reverse crab-walking to the mailbox. Ok, when I word it that way, I can see why they wouldn’t stop.

After pulling myself up, I hobbled the rest of the way to work. My coworkers could tell just by watching me walk in that something was wrong. I put my bags down and went straight to the bathroom to check out the damage. Somehow I skinned both knees without ripping my pants. My right kneecap is already turning purple. The bruises on my left knee start midway up my calf and go up through the kneecap itself. Somehow, there are no other bruises forming on me so far. My coworker, the morning angel who brought us coffee every day at Christmas and gave me a knitting set to teach myself with, broke out the first aid kit I usually use at work (for all those tiny cuts I manage to get) and helped me bandage up my knees.

I tried to hobble around the store, do a bit of stock and face up during my shift. I even wobbled over to the dollar store on my break for soda and fruit juice. I had to grab a chair and sit for the last part of my shift, though, because I was in pain. Since my left knee wouldn’t bend, and my right knee hurt to move, I was leaning on the cart and holding myself up too much. Now today, my arms and upper back are sore from basically carrying my weight around the store for 3 1/2 hours. My left knee still won’t bend when I stand, although I can put a lot more weight on that leg today than I could last night. My poor Amazingly Awesome Boyfriend took the brunt of a painful outburst when he tried to help me take my boots off after work, I tried to put my weight on my left leg and then fell into the wall. The pain in my left leg goes from mid-calf to the upper thigh, a combination of muscle strain, bruises, and what AAB is positive is a broken kneecap.

My right leg has darker bruises so far but hurts far less. I can bend that knee pretty well, and put weight on it. It just gets really sore if I’m on my feet for too long. And once I do sit down, my ankle tingles for a while. Walking funny due to not being able to really use my knees is wreaking havoc on my back. My upper back and arms already hurt from holding myself up so much yesterday. Now my lower back is starting to ache from walking and sitting funny. I tried to sleep away the pain, but AAB kept waking me up when he tried to gently check on me, and the super cuddly Bowser Kitten loves to sleep on my knees, which was a huge problem last night. All in all, I’m a huge mess today.

I have no clue how I’m going to get through work today or the next few days. Sunday is our sale changeover, which myself and the WBFF are in charge of. That means a whole tonne of lift, putting away old stock, putting out new stock, and walking around the store. My only day off is Tuesday, which will be spent bus-hopping from appointment to appointment unless I can bribe my mother to come drive me to the doctors’ offices. Right now I am cold, sore, achey, and miserable. The possibly chilly Bowser Kitten is hiding under the big blanket on my bed, burrowed far enough in that only his little nose is poking out. I wish I could curl up in there and join him but I have to get ready for work, and any time I try to cuddle him while he’s hiding he just runs away anyway.


Self-Care Weekend, Embracing My Inner Sloth

Right now there is a little black fuzzy face staring up at me from under the desk with giant kitten eyes that just scream “cuddle me”, but tiny razor-sharp claws that scream “touch me and your PJ pants become booty shorts”. He’s upset that the Amazingly Awesome Boyfriend had to get up early today and head into work, and I’m sitting here in my favourite blanket drinking coffee, which means I’ll be getting ready for work soon too.

I somehow managed to get this past Sunday off, and Monday was a holiday so we both had a day off. Yes, somehow we had a full, entire weekend to ourselves. That never happens to us! Sundays are the only day I am pretty much guaranteed a decent shift at work, so I very rarely get them off. And even though AAB takes the occasional Monday off, I’m usually closing up the store and doing what feels like 37 things at once at home before work. I honestly can’t remember the last time we just randomly had an actual full, unplanned weekend off where we had no responsibilities to attend to, no family events, no huge tasks to complete, and no feeling a panic setting in while we realize all the things that we didn’t do.

This weekend, our to-do list was minimal, at best:

  1. Clean out Bowser’s litter box real good, like AAB does every Sunday so that Bowser has a nice clean place to poop.
  2. Take out the garbage.
  3. Make sure we get anything we need from the grocery store and liquor store before they close.
  4. Hydrate at some point.
  5. Watch Olympics.

Seriously, that was all we had scheduled for the entire weekend!

Ok, so AAB’s mom and aunt announced they were coming over on Sunday, which threw a slight wrench in our “go to the really cute grocery store I love, eat fresh spring rolls in front of the tv, and read a bunch” plan we had somewhat worked out in our heads.  But they were coming over because AAB’s mom bought a small freezer for him for his birthday, which meant a brand new giant box for AAB to turn into a small castle for the regally fuzzy Bowser Kitten.

The rest of Sunday was pretty damn breezy. AAB didn’t go to university, and we live in a student neighbourhood near y old university, so he said he’s always felt a little out of place.  So, I gave him the full “random Sunday night in the middle of the semester” university experience. After setting up our freezer and making a quick trip to the Multifoods for my mushroom meat and random Japanese snack foods, we came home for a quick dinner. While I ate my tempura shrimp, spring rolls, and ramen, AAB made himself tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. After throwing his dishes in the sink, he promptly pulled a blanket up over his head and fell asleep on the couch next to me. It was not even 7pm yet on a Sunday night.

I let him nap for close to two hours while I moved over to the other couch to stretch out. I grabbed my books, the wireless mouse for the TV, and a giant glass of wine. I did a little research for the writing project I’m working on (which is what’s been keeping me from updating my blog the last week or so), curled up with the super cuddly Bowser Kitten under a pile of blankets, watched a little figure skating, and then threw on some old 90’s SNL episodes.

After he finally woke up and crawled off the couch, he grabbed himself a snack and his book and crawled right back onto it. We sprawled out on our respective couches, vowing we were going to get some actual read (and in my case, writing) done when we really just sat there watching the masterful Chris Farley crash through tables and choke on polish sausage. We distracted each other with YouTube videos ranging from pipe fitting tutorials to the 1998 Bourne and Kraatz Riverdance on-ice competition performance. We goofed off, munching on snack foods and watching whatever we could click on first on YouTube for hours. We jumped between random videos, Olympic highlights, and reading each other exerpts from the Bathroom Readers we had in our laps.

Suddenly, it was 4am. We were starting to crash a bit, drunk and full of popcorn. Instead of reaching for the energy drinks I had stashed in the fridge for the weekend, I suggested making a 7-11 run for provisions. So there we were at 4:30am, me with ripped up jeans over my baggy flannel PJ pants, him goofy from tiredness, stumbling around near campus in search of caffeine and snacks. Despite my lactose intolerance, I wound up getting an ice cream cone to go with my giant coffee and container of fried chicken. AAB got himself a much smaller coffee but still went for a bunch of fried chicken.

We chugged our coffees and curled up on our respective couches, snuggled deep in piles of blankets and throw pillows. I was the first to fall asleep a little before 7am, while AAB stayed up just long enough to watch the sun start to come up. We dozed on our couches for maybe 4 hours before waking up for much-needed water. And after that…… we really didn’t do all the much. AAB had gathered up the garbage and cleaned the litter box the night before, all we had left to clean was our dishes. I made a giant plate of Chinese dumplings and leftover tempura shrimp to snack on and moved my lazy butt over to AAB’s couch while he sat in the office for a change of scenery. Basically, I snacked and napped all day in front of the TV. I embraced my inner sloth, letting myself be all adorable and fuzzy with a stupid grin on my face. I napped, Bowser napped, AAB napped. We ate random junk, he baked chicken for his lunches, I made more noodles and dumplings, and we napped more. Then we stayed up extra late to watch the ice dancing final dances.

By the time we rolled into bed after 11pm on Monday night, we were both goofy from a weird form of exhaustion. We didn’t really do anything all day. At the most, AAB took a cab to the grocery store to buy himself some chicken, and I stood at the stove for an hour cooking and cleaning. We didn’t get done any of the things we had somewhat planned for the day, took multiple naps, lazed around all day, and still, we were exhausted. Maybe it was the fact that we both only got maybe 4 hours of drunken sleep the night before and were both hungover as hell. Regardless, somehow AAB forgot that Rod Stewart and Sting are not the same person, I forgot how to brush my teeth, and we both collapsed into bed for a few hours before he had to be up for work at 6am.

Usually, I feel super guilty for not doing anything for even a morning. We both needed this weekend though. I don’t remember having this much fun with AAB in a very long time. We were both just relaxed, my anxiety was almost non-existent, and he didn’t snap at me once the entire weekend.

In the end, this weekend just re-energized me. I was in quasi-sloth mode yesterday but was wide awake at 6am instead of going back to bed after AAB left for work. Even though I have today off, I’ve been up since 6:30am and have worked through a large chunk of my giant to-do list. The adorably sleepy Bowser Kitten is so confused, he had to take an extra nap today just to deal with me so far! I’ve cleaned, written, gathered my research, cooked, and it’s not even noon yet! After a quick shower, I’m off to go do my laundry, and then finish cleaning up the house yet again!

Sometimes we all need time to just embrace our inner sloth.