Titling this post “Losing my shit” would have been more appropriate, but I am trying to be considerate of those who are not quite as salty as I am in my language habits.
Most of the time, I think I am pretty rational and organized. Then again, most of the time I seem to spend working. In my professional life I am practically a professional organizer.
Personal life, not so much. Nothing like starting your day by frantically searching for your keys at 4:45 in the morning. I looked in all the usual places, checked a half dozen other improbable possibilities, and finally gave up and took M’s key for my car so I could get to the gym and not be supremely annoyed for losing my keys AND missing practice.
While I take ownership of my responsibility for my own stuff, this is partly M’s fault. Last night there was a major miscommunication – totally my fault – that resulted in a short, intense disagreement between us. I freely admit to not handling conflict well and that it takes a toll and sometimes takes a bit of time and/or space to completely purge the negative emotions from my system. What happened is G and K had made arrangements to store wedding beer in one of our refrigerators, and I completely forgot to tell M about it. As in, they arrived unexpectedly (for him – I knew about it) and that’s a big no-no in our house. So that was strike 1. Then M goes into this long, elaborate explanation with the kids of why it’s better to leave the beer in the house (thinking fridges are both sort of half full), only to be told by my son that I have already cleared out the refrigerator to make room. That’s strike 2. Then G and K are purchasing our former vehicle and may be selling G’s car, which was a surprise to M yet should not have been because I told him what I knew about it last weekend. So that’s sort of strike 2.5. So I get home, step out of my car, and M is at the door venting all his pissed-off-ness at the situation I put him into and complaining, loudly, that he seems to not be a resident of our household, that to other people it’s my house.
Fuck that. The kids did the right thing, made the arrangements with me, and it is 100% my fault that I forgot to tell him. Do not play that “the kids are shit because they treat me like I do not exist here” bullshit. Had I told him the kids were going to be dropping by with the beer, he would have asked what time, I would have said I don’t know, why don’t you text them and ask? And all would have been fine. But I’ve been busy with other things – like making a living – and simply forgot to tell him. Trying to lay blame on the kids does not fly well with me and I told him so very tersely, so it was not a pleasant get home from a busy, stressful, crazy day at the office.
Somehow in that tense discussion I tossed my keys on the desk and they flew off the edge without my noticing. They were hidden in plain sight on the floor in the office. After getting home from the gym and frantically tearing through the house looking for them (and thus harshing my post-shoulder practice buzz), I happened to bend down to pick up a piece of paper off the floor and spotted them.
Thing is, the whole lost and found search for my keys has this domino effect of setting me up and into a pretty foul mood. Then I forgot to leave the gate unlocked for the pest control people … who were supposed to come yesterday, except I forgot the gate then as well and M was gone much of the day, but they were running behind and pushed us to today, and I forgot again. Fortunately they are running behind again today and M just got home to unlock the gates.
Kind of a sucky start to a Friday. It’s working out, but still. I feel like such a drama princess right now.
So, in order to hopefully save me from myself and this sort of bad feeling, I have bitten the bullet and ordered one of those key finder tag apps. I actually ordered 2 of them, so I can keep track of my work keys as well. Maybe my angsty drama at 4 in the morning can be avoided in the future.
And finally, in my when undelightful things happen, Monday trainer J showed me how to use the hamstring curl machine. Wednesday when I went to try it on my own, it was out of service. Bummer. Last week (I think) he showed me how to use a shoulder machine upstairs. Today when I went to use it, it was out of service.
If the dip machine I learned yesterday is out of service tomorrow, I am going to take it as a sign of something. Bad luck? Poor timing? Coincidence? Black clouds around me when it comes to machinery?
Still freezing in my office, so we are closing up at noon and all working from home. I cannot wait for hot yoga at 5 so I can warm up. And I am looking forward to getting home and getting back to baseline emotional normal while being mindful of where I leave my blasted keys.
Happy Friday everyone!