Well. That Was A Crappy Week


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And it’s only Tuesday. Can I tell you how many ways the last two days totally and utterly sucked?

A couple of tough weeks at work, some sleeplessness and I’m done in.

It’s unseasonably warm in Dublin and I’m sweating all the time. I’m god-damned blotting my upper lip like it’s going out of fashion.

I started an evening course on Monday. I’m the oldest person there, this includes the lecturer. This is the first time this has happened. I am drowning in a sea of pop culture references. I hope this gets better. My usual quippy jokes fall flat.

Today, I managed to send five or six emails before they were ready, like my fingers have discovered a short cut, but they’ve decided to keep it a secret from the rest of me. Conversations don’t go right and I’m coming across as aggressive and it’s not how I feel but that what is coming out of my mouth.

Oh and I piss off my Line Manager before 9am. There is someone at work, just coffees and lunches and I thought we were getting somewhere, but today, it felt off, there was nothing. And I wanted to cry.

I have to be reminded of a friends kindness and I feel like a fuck.

I slither out of work and gravity is really working on me.  I have a tension headache that I would gladly punch a small child to get rid of . Ugh, just get me home. I get to a pedestrian crossing, hit the traffic stop button and my fingers come away sticky and gooey. There’s internal screaming and I use every curse word I know. I go to the nearest pub to wash my hands. The barman tells me it’s a thing that the local kids do, spitting on things. Wonderful. I’ll probably get hepatitis.

So now I’ve missed my bus and all I can do is look at the offending hand. Don’t smell it, you’ll look like a weirdo. When the bus does arrive, it is packed and full of horrible people. Everyone is horrible. It smells of pee. There is a woman down the back that seems to be dying of pleurisy and she’s trying to take us all with her, through the power of her cough. She is coughing without prejudice. I get off the bus and don’t even thank the bus driver. Walking home, I feel guilty about that.

I get home and C, who is off getting her hair did and on a jolly jaunt, courtesy of her first full pay packet will not be seen this side of midnight. She has not washed her breakfast dishes. This almost brings me to tears.

Alright, I give up, I collapse onto a chair and consider the option of crawling upstairs to bed. Then I see this face:

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Doggie does not care about my shitty day. This old doggie is however, happy to see me. If he picks up on my black mood, he says nothing. He is telling me what he is always telling me and it is

bring me outside, I’ve got stuff to smell, things to pee on, and damn it I really want to do some running.

Without further ado, we are off. We’re walking on grass and I’m looking at the Dublin mountains and the sky is blue with fluffy white clouds and we’ve got the whole park to ourselves and it’s too warm to wear my jacket so I have it on my head, like a cape, I’m holding doggies lead like a lasso. I look up and see

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It looks and feels like summer, there is a light breeze and I can smell autumn in the air, but also flowers.

In the end I’m just glad to be here. In the end I realise that, that wasn’t such a bad day. In the end I am grateful that most of my days are full of smiles and pleasant words.

We’re home now. Doggie is asleep. I swear he’s smiling.

You’ll never get another today.

Today is the gift.

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