Ever have one of those days?
You know those days when you wake up with a start from a dream where Megan Fox has turned you into a vampire and gotten you addicted to heroin and is keeping you hostage in an old farm house and forces you to hunt for meat, except the farm house is on a barren space rock terrain and there’s no animals or meat to be found, so everyone starts eating their hands with glee over finally getting to eat and you’re eating your ring finger and decide that this isn’t the life you want so you tell Megan Fox this while plying her with compliments like “You’re a baby Angelina, you know that?” and she’s cautiously ok with you leaving but then she tries to stab you with a rusty machete as you’re walking out the door? You know those dreams? Yeah.
And you wake up and it feels like an Arctic chill has swept over your body? So you pull the blanket off the ground and the second you cover yourself, you have never been hotter. And you have to pee. And you can’t go back to sleep because Megan Fox, heroin vampire machete welding Megan Fox ruined your dream life and now you’re asking yourself things like “what would I do if I really had to eat my own fingers?”
So you toss and turn restlessly, sweating with the blanket on and shivering with the blanket off, until you fall into deep REM 10 minutes before your alarm goes off? You wake up again, in a shitty mood. You force yourself to shower because you didn’t last night because you got caught up watching Friends. You pick a corporate looking outfit from your closet because the big wig is in town. Tell yourself, “I’ll just tuck in my shirt when I get to work.”
Then, you catch your bus and sneeze about 47 times, using every available square inch of tissue you brought with you? And everyone stares at you like you’re a diseased fiend, and you just want to shout I’M ALLERGIC TO YOUR COUNTRY, OK?
So, then you get to work, and you realize quickly that a) your shirt is vaguely see-through and you aren’t wearing a camisole; b) your pants don’t fit at all, that the waist is too big and won’t keep your shirt tucked in if you raise your arms; c) your air-dried hair is pulling a weird Jared Leto and that it’s high time you corral your trashy lion’s mane; d) why are you wearing mustard colored shoes when they don’t go with anything you’re wearing? So you stare at yourself in dismay, thinking, “this is happening.” Promise yourself things like this will stop happening when you finish your clothing project. So you fix your outfit with a cardigan, and you start work.
And your boss is all, “Please scan this book.”
And you’re like, “Ok! That’s easy.”
2 hours later, half your lunch period gone, the damn book will not scan. It is 65 over sized pages that crash your mail box when you send them out.
Later, while you’re covering reception, the phone system crashes while a co-worker from another location is on hold. You let her know that the system is having issues, and she gets seethingly snippy, and it rattles you. By the time her issue is resolved and she’s done yelling at you, you’re shaking with anger–mostly angry at yourself that someone on the phone who you don’t even know and who has no control over you made you fall apart. Spend the rest of the reception period forgetting how to transfer calls.
You whinge to Joel. He re-assures you. It’s nice.
Back at your desk, you try to scan book again, still can’t get it to work. Boss says don’t worry about it. Instead gives you a 700 page book to hand bind.
You decide to drink scotch after dinner.
You get home, and Joel runs out to greet you. He’s laid out your favorite sweat pants and lounge shirt and tells you pizza will be here in 20 mins. And that he ordered meat lovers with a fat crust, just for you. You feel so incredibly touched, and instantly all the dumb of the day melts away. It wasn’t the worst day you’ve ever had, but these little gestures kept it from becoming so much worse. It’s the little things that hold everything up.
You know, those kinda days? The days when you realize you chose a keeper? And how happy you are that that keeper chose you, also?
“You’re a keeper.” You tell him.
“I’m a Quiddich keeper.” He says.
And it’s love.