Friday Confessional


T.G.I.F.

Really, this week has been one hell of a doozie and I’m SO thankful it is only hours from being done and the weekend upon us.

WHY? you might ask?

Let’s hit the confessional and I’ll share some of the why.

I confess…

Monday should have been the warning.  I have the yorkie on a retractable leash when I take her anywhere outside of the house or office. If I don’t she will bolt after squirrels, birds or whatever else she sees as a threat to my safety.  When I head out the door each morning I have my laptop and purse over my shoulder, my thermal lunch bag, a 64 ounce water bottle and the leash in my right hand, my keys and coffee in my left.  A regular pack mule.  It is also dark when I leave.  I flipped off the hall light inside the door and the front porch light, with my elbow and went out of the door, having already locked the handle.  The dead-bolt automatically locks after about 30 seconds.  I used the pinky of my left hand to pull it shut behind me and started walking off the porch but felt resistance on the leash.  I sighed, pulled at it and said “come on Penny let’s GO”.  Nothing.  I heard her bark and it sounded like she was a mile away.  Turning in the dark looking around I realized that the damn dog is on the other side of the door and the leash is closed IN the door.  I sat my coffee down, right through a spider web (ARGH) so I could fumble with the keys.  Finding the right key by feeling them I am struggling to get it in the door handle and just as I unlock it and start to push, the dead bolt rolls into place.  AHHHHHHHH!!!  SO, I had to locate the center button to push it so the numbers will light up, I enter the combo, dead bolt slides back and I open the door.  As the dog comes out I go to shut the door and drop my keys inside.  I bend over to pick those up and the laptop swings around and smacks the door opening it further.  At this point I’m surprised one of the cats didn’t decide to make a run for it out of the door.

ALL of that should have served as an omen of what the rest of the week held.  Somehow I missed the message between the lines of my “good morning sunshine” start to Monday.

I confess…

While we knew it was never a matter of “if” but more of a “when”, I was not prepared for the text on my phone on Tuesday morning telling me that in the night my dad had fallen and broken a hip.  He has to get around with a walker, can no longer feel his legs from irreversible neuropathy, and he falls frequently, even spraining a knee and ankle just a few weeks ago.  But that was not a happy text.  They did a partial hip replacement Wednesday and he is headed to a nursing home for rehab today.  He’ll be there a while, and in all honestly should stay there.  His quality of life will improve vastly when he has someone else to cook, take care of him, and lots of new friends to make.

I confess…

Stuff I cannot share rose it’s ugly head at 12:30am this morning with more texts about another family member and I’m ready to bang my head on my desk.  I’d like a do-over for the sleep I’ve missed this week, please.

I confess…

Traffic many days has been a real treat.  I hate traffic on 75N in the morning.  OH I wish I could snap my fingers and be where I need to be.

I confess…

I’m puzzled.  When someone posts “I’m sorry my friends have to read this…..” or “I wish I didn’t have to post this…..” and then lash out or share about someone who they have perceived has wronged them, isn’t this drama?  Are they REALLY sorry anyone has to read this? HELL NO!  They wouldn’t post it if it wasn’t a big ploy for attention.  This person is nothing but a bona-fide attention whore!!!  Then days later to post an apology of sorts like they regret the post?  I’m so calling BULLSHIT.  It’s easy to post an apology or to allude to an admission of being wrong once you’ve soaked up all that attention like a sponge.  Attention Whore and drama queen extraordinaire.  If they weren’t such types they’d not post such things to begin with!  At 50+  years old you’d think they’d grow up and get over the elementary school games.  What is sad is all the little folks fawning all over said types like they are SO wronged and poor poor pitiful soul.  PUKE!

I confess…

I am frustrated and in such need of serious snuggle time with my honey.  This week sure didn’t look like it was going to be loaded for bear when it started but under the shadows of the full, harvest moon, it has been unbelievable.  We have hardly seen each other this week except to sleep.

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5 thoughts on “Friday Confessional

  1. When I turned fourteen, I ran for my school’s track team, and each fall was cross-country season. I was expected each summer to run three to five miles a day to train for it, so I began to take Charlie with me to keep him in shape. Whenever I appeared in my tank top, shorts, and running shoes, Charlie worked himself into a frenzy while I attached his leash. Then we’d bolt out the screen door and run flat out until we reached the road where Mr. Whalen had died, stopping if the light was against us, sprinting across the eight lanes if it wasn’t. Once we were in the park, I’d let go of his leash and we’d race across the meadow where kids flew their kites. Then we were into the woods, streaking along a rutted dirt path, the air cool under the trees, a quilt of bright sunlight and shade ahead of us, the world silent except for the scuffle of leaves beneath our feet and our breathing. Charlie grew winded faster than I did, and after a mile he’d slow down, look at me, and raise his eyebrows, suggesting a breather. But I kept going. It never occurred to me that he was getting old. His Charlieness was a fixed point in my tiny universe, as stable as true north. I’d known Charlie before I knew that each of us, all of us, would one day die. So to me Charlie was immortal. But as he aged, it became clear why he hadn’t mourned Mr. Whalen’s death. Charlie’s fate was to allow us to practice our mourning on him. To prepare us for unbridled desolation and grief without end. We had it backward. We weren’t here to take care of him, he was here to take care of us. To be our guide and our consolation.

  2. I’m never sorry that someone has to read me. Because in all reality they do not. They can click off any time they want. My facebook, my blog, my forum.. they all have a click the hell out of here button.. and I invite everyone to use it that does not like what I read. LOL.. I think the entire world had your kind of MOnday. I was on a Vodka IV by noon Monday.

  3. Yep. Sounds like you’ve had a good one. Mine was similar with 3 big tests that…..well, I didn’t do the greatest on. Oh well. That’s life. Sorry about your Dad. From what I’ve read on FB, he sounds like the “macho” kind of man that is having some trouble giving up some of the things that he thinks he should still be able to do. The good news though, he also sounds like he’s still pretty “sharp” so maybe when he makes up his mind to go to the nursing home, he will realize how much happier he and everyone that cares about him will be. Good luck with that. I wish my Dad were still around to cause me pain in the butt.

    About the drama queen? (notice how we both don’t even give her a capital Q anymore?) She is what she is. Now THERE is someone that I wouldn’t want to be around when she FINALLY decides to act her age. I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed anyone as UN-age appropriate in my life. GIVE IT UP woman. You’re practically a senior citizen. You’d think the new picture of grandkids would help, but it will probably just cause another run on the Tat shop. LOL And you’re right, she wasn’t sorry people had to read that. She’s only sorry that MORE people couldn’t. I bet she doesn’t even have to go to a tanning salon from all the limelight she tries to soak up.

    Anyway…here’s hoping you get some snuggle time. {hugs}

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