I just ate 2 handfuls of Pretzel M&Ms and put extra sugar in my coffee. Why? Because I need a serotonin hit like you would not believe. What started out as “Yay! We’re getting new kitchen floors!!!” has turned into “OMG WHERE ARE THE FREAKING TORTILLA CHIPS? AND WHERE ARE THE FREAKING ORANGES? AND WHY ISN’T THE SALT IN IT’S RIGHTFUL PLACE?????”
Nothing is where it should be. My refrigerator is in the living room, my coffee table has now become my pantry, my microwave and dishwasher are in the laundry room, the trash can is in the garage…do you see why I’m a wee bit edgy???? DO YOU??????
(breathe, Jill, breathe. Count to ten. Eat another M&M.)
It’s very disconcerting when a routine is messed with. Oh, and I don’t think I mentioned that not only are we redoing the kitchen floors, we are also putting tile in the master bathroom shower. What was once a teeny tiny fiberglass insert will hopefully be a little bit bigger tiled shower, but right now it’s just a big gaping hole in the wall. Nice. So really, my whole entire morning routine is all kinds of screwed up.
And let me just take a moment here to say that I completely realize these are first world problems that I’m complaining about. I get that. But I’ma rant just a little bit more because I need to get it out of my system. Thanks for understanding.
So anyway, my getting-ready-for-work routine is messed up, as is the whole pack-the-kids-lunch, eat breakfast, and get-everyone-out-the-door routine.
I’m not a willow, people. I don’t bend very well under pressure. Instead, I snap like a twig.
My plan was to get on my treadmill and release some stress through some good old fashioned sweating. But my treadmill is surrounded by boxes of tile and other heavy things, and the garage is not exactly in a state where things can be moved easily, which makes me sad because I really need a little one-on-one time with some loud music and heavy footfalls.
Hopefully, this chaos won’t last more than a week to ten days, tops. Tomorrow, I’m going to try and do some rearranging in the garage so that I can free my treadmill from it’s captors, and maybe try to create a little system so that I’m not walking into 3 different rooms just to make breakfast.
And when I get home tonight, I better see major progress on that kitchen floor or else I’ma cut somebody (cause I’m so gangsta like that – in my own white-suburban-mom way, of course).