Well, yesterday turned out to be the day from hell.
It's hard to remember everything that made it so entirely craptastic, most likely because I've repressed the awful memories. Ok, I exaggerate... a little.
I woke up exhausted. 6 hours of sleep just does not cut it for me.
I was late to work, had no time to get ready, messy hair, rainy weather, an ugh! kind of morning.
Work was okay, though we did have a few minor disasters. I got stuck there late, then on my way home remembered that we were out of bread, and Mark needed some chips for his lunch. I thought I would be a good wife and stop to do a quick shopping.
Thought I may as well grab something for dinner, and picked up some pre-breaded chicken. That would be quick.
I left the grocery store, and a big storm had rolled in, pouring rain. I saw some woman unloading her car, and she wasn't exactly dressed for the weather. I offered to return her cart for her. I thought this was a nice thing to do and that the positive energy of the universe, God, karma, or whatever would reward me for my good behavior. Instead, the cart ran over my foot and left a painful scrape on the right side of my ankle. On the bright side, I did not get struck by lightning.
I got in the car, cursed the woman, and drove home. I arrived, and Mark hadn't had time to pick up the kitchen. It wasn't too bad, but I was so done in. I picked it up, and he helped unload the dishwasher. After that, he began working on fixing my old desktop computer. We had a new hard drive, it just needed to be installed.
I went to put the chicken in the skillet, and realized I had left it at the store. [Defeated] Mark offered to go back and get it for me, but (lucky me) he ended up finding it tucked under a coat in the trunk of the car. I quickly threw it in the skillet and started making pasta salad. I was determined to keep up my routine - no matter how much the world tried to stop me.
Unfortunately, the chicken must have been some kind of new-age processed heat-resistant meat. It would NOT cook. After an hour and 15 minutes, I finally deemed it edible, and we sat down to eat. The chicken wasn't half bad, but I noticed Mark barely touched his. I asked him what was wrong, and he informed me that he does *not* eat dark meat, and that this meal would have been better with some mashed potatoes. An image flashed through my mind of me force-feeding him an entire cold chicken thigh, but I was too tired to actually attempt it.
Long story short, we ate a lot of pasta salad, my desktop computer crashed, and when I decided to finally give in and go back to my slow-running laptop, that crashed too.
We crawled into bed, I rolled over, and turned on the TV. They were showing a preview of Eat Pray Love in which Julia Roberts leaves her life behind to travel the world and go find herself.
From the other side of the bed behind me, I heard Mark mumble, "Don't get any ideas..."
I would really love to end my post with that line, but when he said it I got so upset.
For a few reasons: 1) He knows I'm that type of person, I'm a dreamer, and I love to "start over", to throw everything away at the drop of a hat, to turn my life upside down and just run away. 2) I know that scares him, and he won't admit it (though he did last night). 3) I feel like he's trying to hold me back from my dreams instead of celebrating them with me. AND 4) I know he wants the exact same thing, and if we both just let go, stopped being afraid, we could make each others' dreams come true.
And that was exactly what I mumbled to him, word-for-word, as I fell asleep. I don't remember much before I drifted off, except that he was smiling at me.
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