Ruby Tuesday

I wanted to title this post "Monday Monday" but realized that it is actually Tuesday.  It just feels like Monday to me, because I took yesterday off to do some baking and Christmasy things. 

Of course, the Best Laid Plans....

I was ready to come back to work after this weekend.  I am tired, I am frustrated, and I am likely to start crying for any number of reasons or non-reasons.  Work has structure.  Work has friends who care about me, but don't know me well enough to ask many questions.  When I'm at work I have a semblance of control over my day.  It feels like a refreshing break after a chaotic weekend.  And, bonus, very few things at work make me want to cry these days.  Which is more than I can say for my life outside of work.

It's not like anything really terrible happened this weekend.  Yes, I did go into some OCD spirals over the accidental middle-finger incident on Saturday night, when Hubs and I mistook the honking and light flashing of the car behind us to be aggression over the fact that we had not yet turned right at the red light.  In that frantic and frustrating moment, Hubs resorted to the only clear communication he could muster to indicate that we would turn when we thought it was safe to do so, and not a moment sooner.... But alas.  The finger found its way to the eyes of a dear friend who was just trying to get our attention to say "Hi".  Phone call and text apologies were met with no response.  And so I stewed over the insult all weekend.  I feel OK about it now, and hope that all is well, but I felt the crush of guilt for much of the last 3 days. 

And Hubs was in the pit of despair for much of Friday.  He heard back from UW Milwaukee that they had extended the job offer to someone else, and, with no other job interview lined up so far he was laid flat with the realization that he will very likely have no job next year.  We rallied with some beer and West Wing episodes, and he seemed better on Saturday.  Until The Finger Incident, when we both started feeling pretty crummy again. 

Sunday was the Nine Lessons in Carols service at church.  Hands down one of the best reasons all year to get up on a Sunday morning.  And I needed it.  I was excited to get out of bed and drive to Bucktown,   partly because I knew that if there is ever a chance that we will get to sing "Angels We Have Heard On High", that will be the day.  It was mom's all-time favorite song.  We sang it at her memorial service, in fact.  And I was frantic to get to church and find out if it was on the set list.  It was.  I was elated.  And then nauseous with emotion.  My head started spinning and I felt a little bit of panic start to pulse through me.  I cried messily through "Oh Come All Ye Faithful" and could faintly (too faintly) actually hear mom's alto in my head, nudging me to try to the harmony part through my snot and sobs. 

I put my hand to my nose to wipe away a drip and realized that my nose was actually bleeding.  Heavily.  I scrambled for some tissues in my bag and tried not to get blood all over my new sweater.  Hubs looked at me and asked how he could help.  I assured him there was nothing he could do, and I swabbed blood, snot, and mascara off my face while everyone sang around me.  I probably should have gone to the bathroom, but I was too embarrassed to turn around and face anyone on my walk to the stairs.  I begged Hubs to convince me that I did not look like I had just been in a bar fight.  He assured me that I looked fine, and there was no blood on my sweater.  Good times.  I sat twitchily and waited for the last of the 9 carols.  The big finish.  All four verses.  I was psyching myself up.  Rehearsing the harmony in my head.  We stood.  I sang and cried and got that jolt of closeness-to-her that only happens every once in a while.  A transcendent space.  A flash of thinking "She is singing this with me.  Right now.  In Heaven." and believing that it is true. 

And then... what??  WTF??  WHAT?!?!  2 Verses?  Just 2 verses?  And now you've created a mash-up with Joy to the WORLD?!?!  Really?  We sing that, what, a zillion times every year?  I actually yelled out "NOOOO!!!"  in church.  From my pew.  "BOOOO!" I said "All 4 Verses!"  Hubs looked at me and smiled politely and put his hand on my back.  The people in front of us turned around and saw my hot-mess and just smiled and went back to singing.  I felt like the old witch in "Princess Bride" who yells out "BOOO!" when Princess Buttercup makes her debut.  It felt like a mean trick.  I felt defeated.

It's silly, I know.  But I had worked so hard to be able to stand up and sing that song without falling, fainting, bleeding or barfing, and it got cut short.  I was mad.  I got over it.

And other weird things like that happened all weekend.  Like Auggie deciding that he wasn't house trained any more and pooping and peeing on the floor for kicks.  And making salty shortbread that tasted more like salt than short bread.  So, I was actually glad to come to work today.  To bring cookies for the cookie exchange.  To wear work clothes instead of sweats.  To sit in front of my computer without having to listen to Auggie barking, the sound of Hubs' frantic typing up notes, Christmas carols that apparently weaken my arteries, or any other distraction from the distractions of the season. 

Roommate really saved the weekend last night when she invited me over for wine and crafting/baking.  It got off to a slow start, but soon we were drinking and laughing and having a grand time.  It was great.  Merry and Bright.  Thank the Lord.  And Thank God it's Tuesday.