Because Mondays don’t end when you are not working.

It was going well, exceptionally well.  Got up early and did some writing; was preparing to shower, get some boxes packed and off to UPS when I came tripping out of the bathroom to grab a ringing cell phone.  As in who the hell is calling me at 7am?  Oh, maybe the guy about the job.  Time difference and all, it’s after noon there.

As I caught my toe on the edge of the bathroom scale with the box on it in the corner of the hall outside the bathroom and the bedroom  I almost recovered, but my feet somehow got tangled up in my jammi pants.  You know the big silky blue ones with the wide legs and extra long length and the slightly worn out waist?  The ones that hang low on my hips.  The comfy ones. Yeah.

Well, by the time I realized *what* was happening, I couldn’t stop it *from* happening.  Slow motion cartoony thing that it was; banging my ankle on the side of something I don’t know what; arms flailing; down, down, down; catching my right arm with the already strained muscle on the side of the bed as I make one last ditch effort to hurl myself away from the edge of the dresser;  Rrrriiip;  planting the side of my face firmly into the carpet.  CRACK!  ugh.

That was a pretty sickening, sick to my stomach, where did my breath go, UGH.  So there I am face first in the carpet.  The space between the bed and the dresser is just over 2 feet wide.  There’s enough room to lay down but not quite enough to comfortably roll over.

Ok, the lanai door is open and I am groaning. LOUD.  Fuckity FUCK.  My shoulder hurts.  My arm hurts.   Bad.  I want help.  But I don’t want help. Not really.  Besides I can’t get the fuck up to unlock the front door.  If I could, I wouldn’t need help now would I?

I’ve fallen and I can’t get up, so I stayed there for a bit until I decided I *really, really* needed some aspirin.  Maybe a painkiller.  At least aspirin.  Rolled myself over a bit at a time by sort of squiggling and inching around on to my back.  Got up and made my way to the kitchen.  Grabbed the coffee cup….opps…no grip.  Not at all. My arm is completely numb.  Fuckity FUCK.  Dug the aspirin out of my backpack.  FUCK childproof caps.  Fifteen left handed frustrated minutes later, 4 aspirin and a gulp of coffee; I am back in bed.

Dozed for a couple hours or so, I think.  Not really sure. G-d my arm hurt.  I tried to breathe through it.  Wanted to get up and find a painkiller but it was less energy to stay in bed and not deal with another childproof cap.  I had three babies natural.  I’m not a wimp.  Honestly, I haven’t hurt like that since I smashed my elbow between the wall and the dresser and passed out three times from the pain.

Feeling a bit better and stripped of the jammi pants that promptly went in the trash, I started fresh coffee.  Just about the time the water was ready and I was rinsing out the carafe, I turned around to grab the ringing cell phone.  Who the FUCK is calling now?  Oh, maybe the guy about the job.  Time difference and all, it’s afternoon there.

My elbow hits the carafe as I turn around, and sends it careening towards the floor.  Was I using my unbreakable french press?  NO.  That’s up in the cabinet because it was too big for just me.  It still might have been ok since there is a nice thick throw rug on the floor, but NO, it bounced off the edge of the counter first and broke. I watched it…another slow mo cartoony thing…glass shards flying everywhere.  Me barefoot.  And why wouldn’t I be?  No one wears shoes in the house in Hawaii.  Kapu. *shakes head*  FUCK.

Picked up all the glass, swept and vacuumed, put the trash together, gathered up the bathroom rug and started laundry.  At least I hadn’t put the coffee in the carafe so it was good to not have to clean up all those grounds as well.  Made coffee.  Ahhhhh.  Finally, some coffee.  Posted resumes.  Really, by then I didn’t even *want* to go out.  Went to put the laundry in the drier.  FUCK.  Did I remember that red rug sheds and bleeds.  NO.  Now the blue bathroom rug is tinged with pink and it’s fuzzy too.  *rolls eyes*  Well, who the fuck cares, no one uses the bathroom but me anyway.

It could have been worse.

The bedroom is carpeted.

My face hurts but I don’t have a black eye or a broken nose.

I had another french press in the cabinet.

The floor was swept and vacuumed.

The rugs were washed.  One is now blue and pink, but it’s clean.

My arm doesn’t hurt much worse then it already did.  Not much anyway.

I didn’t get to UPS but I did get more resumes posted.

I was here for the Fed-Ex delivery. My last check.  Since it’s twice what I expected, covers rent and utilities, I have no worries about being here another month.

I didn’t get gas in the car but I didn’t drive so I didn’t need the gas anyway.

I don’t know who called because it was an 888 number and they didn’t leave a message either time. Fuckers.

Is there a message here?  Some lesson I need to learn?   Nahhhh.

It’s just life.   Absurd.  Just fuckin’ absurd.

This isn’t exactly out of character for me.

Did I ever tell you about the time I fell down the stairs without spilling the mug of coffee all over myself?

Cut myself making salad on Thanksgiving?

Put a needle through my finger with the sewing machine?

I think pride is injured only if someone *sees* you do stoopid shit like this.

There’s always that.  There’s always tomorrow.

Pardon me while I whine.  And I’m out of cheese.  Fuck…