Bit of a rough one today. Ought not to have been, really. The weather was cool and lovely. No strenuous work obligations. Rehearsals are still a small ways off. It was more an accumulation of tiny annoyances, stress, and the baseline clumsiness that comes with being me.
Woke before my alarm thanks to lady stuff*.
Folded and put away laundry. Sure, its a basic chore, but one of which I’m not fond. Also, I was cranky since I woke up before my alarm.
Ate leftover ziti for breakfast (turkey/zucchini/low GI pasta with extra steamed broccoli, so not super terrible).
Fixated on ice cream, though I’ve not had refined sugar in nearly 9 weeks. Hell with it: ICE CREAM FOR LUNCH, nutritional sabotage bedamned. Drove to the Bellvale Creamery, only to find it wasn’t open for another 45 minutes. Decided that 1. that was the Universe’s way of telling me ice cream was a bad idea and 2. the Universe was a jerk, not the boss of me, and crushingly unfair.
Stopped at the vet’s office to pick up Esme’s special ‘must-be-made-of-gold-and-diamonds-because -why-else-would-it-be-so-expensive’ food. Saw someone bringing in an ailing elderly dog, which led me to think of Isabeau, which led me to ugly, choked back sobs.
Drove home, drained from the cry I had along the way, still hungry and still wanting ice cream. I chugged water as I tried to figure out what I wanted to eat. Since it was ice cream or nothing, I chose the latter. Very mature and professional, you guys.
Finally got it together and ate something moderately sensible, following a ridiculous gap from my first meal. Today’s food journal will be naught but shame and self recrimination.
Esme got super excited about something, raced about, then puked in the middle of the dining room table.
On my way back from my nephew’s ukulele lesson, I stopped to run a couple of errands. Parked the car, got hung up in my purse strap, and punched myself in the face with my keys.
Lamented that I had nothing to make for dinner. Readied for another cry. Realized I’d actually made a dinner plan with things I already had to hand, but had been distracted by the key-face-punching and forgotten it at once.
Don’t be like me, y’all. Just… don’t.
Still, it helps to have someone who just wants to make it all better. To my handsome, very large black tomcat, I say thank you for the aggressive snuggles and lap time. You’re the best, boyo.
*for those with delicate sensibilities, I mean cramps. Big ol’ wrenching cramps due to my uterus sloughing off its lining. Being a girl is super fun.