I couldn't even get too irritated when my eyes popped open a full hour before the alarm went off. I couldn't feel more than a smidge of angst over setting the alarm in the first place, though it was to make sure the 16 year old man child did get up and go to work. I only felt slight violent tendencies when I staggered downstairs to realize that the birds were singing their song of joy so loudly at 5:23 in the morning. I skipped the routine of making my espresso, because I have that extra 24 hours, and with birds clanging bells in my pounding head, I was going to use one or two of those hours to go back to bed the moment the teen boy stumbled out the door.
As I trudged upstairs back to the gloriously dark bedroom, I whipped off the making-me-barely-decent clothing, preparing for snuggling down in bed for some sheer sloth time. I grabbed my phone, thinking I better let the hubby know I'm going to snooze, which is really code word for don't blow my phone up with chipper morning text messages. I see I have a message waiting, and expecting the "good morning, my family!", I open it quickly to see "We are looking forward to your appt: 6/16/14 at 9:00AM" from my dental office.
I'm not sure exactly what came out of my mouth at that moment, but I do know it was loud enough for the neighborhood to hear, because at that moment, the birds seemed to stop their cheerful little song.
I stumble to the closet, throw on some clothes, shuffle my pounding head into the bathroom, throw in some hairspray and mess it up a little (thank you low maintenance hair cut) slap on some spackle just enough to make it look like I made an effort and haul my grouchy ass to the coffee shop so I can get some adequate caffeine intake for this forgotten dentist appointment.
I now know why, even when there are plans to go to the coffee shop, I still down some espresso prior to leaving the house. I am a bitch without caffeine intake. Yes, espresso turns homicidal, judgy McJudgerson into a happy little lark who thinks all mornings are glorious.
As I sat in my parked car, thinking the walk across the street to the coffee shop is just too much to ask of me in addition to a dentist appointment, my eyes scan the happy little worker bees going by. I contemplate slamming my door open into oncoming traffic...just because. I watch the woman getting out of her car in the pretty coral dress and instantly gasp in horror at her choice in footwear. Black patent heels with a coral dress? Really? As if that isn't bad enough, she can't even walk in the heels and has the classic slight bent knee, something large and stiff shoved straight up her ass stride going on. Which then just draws attention to the badly coordinated shoe choice with the coral dress.
Hey, I already admitted the judgy McJudgerson tendency. Give me a break.
I contemplate getting out the car and see the eternally grouchy-I-hate-people receptionist from a medical office getting out of her car. I consider for a moment flipping her off because she's such an unpleasant person (as if I'm any more pleasant this fine early morning). The thought crosses my mind that no amount of caffeine is going to make her customer service skills improve, but then I'm distracted by the person walking by my truck with the phone up to their ear. My thoughts instantly flash to people not being able to just walk without being on their damn phones anymore and I picture myself leaping out of the truck and bitch slapping that phone straight away from her head.
Knowing by this point that caffeine intake is at a point of critical mass, I head into the coffee shop, to stand in line behind Ms. Stiff Legs In High Heels and Eternally Grouchy Receptionist and then run a lengthy mental diatribe about their coffee orders with thoughts like "lightweight" and "amateur" while digging my nails into my palms and breaking out into a cold sweat as the withdrawals set in.
I'm waited on by a new girl, and as I'm mentally screaming "Whyyyyyyy a new one on THIS morning of all mornings????" I realize my debit card is sitting at home on my desk. Though I have credit cards with me, I feel this as just one more little thing piling on my uncaffeinated burden of being in public. I hand over my card after very carefully and slowly explaining my order (because I'm one of those annoying espresso drinkers that never drinks a normal drink right off the menu board), and the new girl stares at the card like it's a ticking time bomb. I briefly consider snatching it out of her hands and swiping the damn thing myself, but thankfully, I find just enough restraint to stand there politely smiling. Smirking. Or sneering. Your choice.
As my coffee comrades join me (since Monday mornings are our typical coffee gathering, though this morning I had other sloth plans), I explain the horror of the forgotten dental appointment, and realize Whitney Houston is playing on the radio in the background. Whitney fucking Houston. Screeching straight into my brain about always loving me. That song is intolerable WITH caffeine, let alone none, and I briefly consider screeching right along with her at mega-volume. Again, self control kicks in and I just grind my teeth, waiting for my drink to arrive. Grinding, right before a dentist appointment. Great idea. I should have just screeched.
As we discuss dentist appointments, my drink arrives, and I slurp from that container as loudly as possible because I'm thinking everyone should be just as irritated by life on a Monday morning as I am. My aunt mentions xrays, and it dawns on me that I'm probably due for xrays at this visit. I consider telling the staff that I'm pregnant to avoid having cardboard shoved in my mouth to the point of gagging, and then ask my present company if it would work to tell them I'm pregnant every time. I could always claim a miscarriage, and pregnancy again, and this could go on and on for about ten years until they realize that I'm probably too old to be claiming human incubation. I think this idea is brilliant, yet that could be the lack of caffeine intake making me think such ludicrously ridiculous thoughts. At least I've stopped judging the fashion choices of the people walking by.
I'm properly caffeinated by the time I arrive at the dental office, though I freely tell anyone who will listen that this appointment has interrupted my sloth time. I then get the news that I'm due for a panoramic xray, which means standing with a machine around your head instead of cardboard in your mouth. I think awesomesauce to that one, until, as the machine starts circling, I realize I'm slightly claustrophobic. Though the front of the xray is slightly blurred (couldn't be from that momentary panic-fidgeting), the rest of the film shows teeth all where they should be except for two. Two wisdom teeth, which I think I remember having that information somewhere in the deep recesses of my brain, but have forgotten in a haze of sloth plans interrupted. I'm informed they're impacted, which is just a heinous dirty word for down in my jaw, and the dental assistant seems to enjoy pointing out the one that's set deep into my jaw and at a complete sideways angle, pointing straight at the rest of teeth as if to say "I'm gonna get ya sucka". I pathetically tell her in a slightly whiny voice that they've never bothered me, and I'm told that we'll go over it after looking at old scans and when the dentist comes in. We proceed with the cleaning, and miracle of all miracles, everything goes fine on a day when it just seems that things would naturally not go smoothly. The dentist arrives, looks at scans, and tells me that the wisdom teeth have moved slightly from the last scan, and MIRACLE, they are something to keep an eye on, instead of the usual "let's take action immediately". However, I get to hear warnings of things like cysts developing, nerve damage because they are crowded so close to the nerves in my jaw, and something about talking, though that could have been my overactive imagination picturing losing all ability to talk which in my chatty little world would be worse than cutting off my own foot with a rusty children's scissors.
I escape alive, find my iced coffee still cold in my truck, and think, hey, I might actually be productive today regardless of my previous sloth plans. I drive home with all the thoughts of projects I could complete, work that could be done. I don't care that it's going to start edging towards 90 degrees today, because I'm still on that high of summer after a polar vortex and don't believe any amount of heat is going to bother me. I even think that maybe, just for once, I will be able to get the monster weed trimmer started and won't look like an epileptic having seizures as I yank on that thing. Thoughts of painting run through my head, especially after I remembered to ask hubby to leave the sawhorses set up for me. All I will need is to grab my craft board and select some fun spray paint when I get home.
And then, I turn the corner of our block and get a view of the driveway. And see the lock. On the garage. The lock that is slowly turning into the bane of my existence. The lock that has two keys. One key on hubby's key ring. One key on son-man-child's key ring. Both of whom are at work. Granted, I could drive back to town and try to track down where they have my son working today just to get that damn key. But that's not the POINT!!! The point, is instead of a spare key hanging in my house, one of them travels through several states every week because lawd knows you might need that motherfucking garage key while you sit in Montana!!!! I've been promised a spare to be made, but I guess that gets forgotten when you're busy flying over the handles of your motocross bike and crashing your 40 something body into the dirt so that you're hobbling around and groaning the remainder of the weekend. It's hard to remember the spray paint, craft boards, and other garage goodies your wife might want when bruised over 50% of your body. Sheesh. He should be thinking of MY crafty projects when wondering if those ribs are broken or just bruised.
Breathe. Drink more espresso. Rant and rave online. Publicly shame yourself for being such a bitchy little twit. Salvage the day and at least weed some flowerbeds. Grab the weed trimmer sitting in your shed and yank on it like a lunatic. Listen to some Nine Inch Nails and get the Ms. Crabbypants out of your system while yanking on Jurassic Park looking weeds.
And for the sake of all that is holy in the world, suck it up buttercup and get the goddamn corpse out of the tree.
Happy Monday.
P.S. I want to punch my computer for not recognizing caffeinated and uncaffeinated as real words. Uncultured swine.
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