This week has been totally out of control. How can tomorrow only be Thursday, how can this be. I’m so completely bummed out by every single detail about this week from start to present moment that I want to just…slap it. I want to slap some sense into this week. WEEK! Stop being so HORRIBLE! Can we just get along for two more little bitty days? Puh-p-p-p-please?
Some good stuff…please wait for a second while I dig deep…There is one little glimmer of brightness in the gloom that has been my life since 7:22am on Monday morning: there’s a new comforter for the bed. The new TJ Maxx across the street carries more than just fashionable foot-wear and the occasional apparel “find”, my friends. They also had a selection of exactly one King sized down (alternative, but it’ll be character building) comforter for a steal. This means that sleep tonight won’t be miserable. There might actually be coziness and enjoyment.
Why is there a new comforter for the bed? Because the delicate flower vomited all over my old down-alternative washable comforter. The one I’d bought to replace the real down comforter that he pee’d on earlier this Fall. Hell hath no wrath like a Husky.
The pee comforter went straight to the dump. That was a no-pass-go scenario. The vomit? Meh. Having just bought the blanket THREE WEEKS AGO, I figured I’d try to salvage it and ran it under scalding water after shoving Nanook out into the living area where he could barf to his heart’s content on the laminates. He didn’t, but the option was there. This dog needs a nose-bag or something, it isn’t natural to expel the contents of your belly and bowels upon being confronted with mild stimuli.
After several days of transferring the puke comforter from the dryer back to the washer, add soap, repeat, it became apparent that it was always going to be the “puke comforter”. You can erase the stains, but you can never erase what happened. The smell lingered with admirable determination, too. I’m tired of talking about puke and pee all of the time. But you can’t blog about work. Sadness.
The only common denominator for all of the mayhem so far has been me. Clearly I’m the problem and wish I could send myself to my room for the rest of the week but this is the sort of thing that’s frowned upon in corporate america. I’d occupy my room. That would be my protest. A solitary 99%’er. Waiting for the week to blow over. Cozy, under imitation down.