Holy fucking ass crackers, you guys.
It has been a ridiculous three weeks. And really, “ridiculous” doesn’t even fully describe the insanity that has been the last three weeks. It’s been retarded. It’s been asinine. It’s been bonkers. It’s been fucking insane. That’s still not really it. Hold on, lemme think.
Okay, you know how chihuahuas shake when they’re excited or stressed? Like they’re so amped up that they’re going to vibrate right out of their skin? That’s how I’ve felt for the last three weeks. Like I’m on all the time, going, going, always focused on the newest challenge or change, and I’m barely remembering to breath and my body is so tense that I’m practically vibrating. It’s like there is a manic squirrel living in my chest. Good things, bad things, exciting things, fucked up things; it’s been just one motherfucking thing after another. For your amusement and amazement, here’s a rundown of the excitement and insanity that has been my last three weeks.
For starters, my boss, Beze, announced that he would be leaving to pursue a career that doesn’t require him to drive 90 minutes each way or spend countless evenings and weekends away from his wife, 7 year old step-daughter, and (now) 7 day old son. Though we were all sad to see him go, none of us can begrudge him the teensiest bit; come on, who wants to work until 2am when they’ve got a brand new baby at home? So we bid him a fond farewell and sent him off with a (soon-to-be much needed) bottle of whiskey. Sunrise, sunset.
And the guy who’s stepping in to replace Beze? Oh, that’s right, it’s Kyle. My husband. My husband is now my boss. But before this news was official, there was almost a week of waiting and wondering. He was offered the job verbally, but there was almost a week before he received an official contract. (Kyle says it was more like four days, but it felt like for-fucking-ever.) I was certain that at any minute we were going to be told that they’d changed their minds, they’d found someone better, they couldn’t hire him because he’d be my boss; a million different scenarios ran through my head, all ending in this amazing offer being ripped from his hands. It was just too good to be true.
But it wasn’t. The official offer was offered, signatures were signed, and I am beyond fucking proud of him. But with this mega promotion brought its own set of new worries. What was it going to be like working with Kyle everyday as my boss? What if we can’t leave our personal lives separate from our professional lives? What if being around each other pretty much all the fucking time causes us to get sick of each other and start to hate each other? What if I fuck up big time and Kyle has to fire me? (Irrelevant because Kyle doesn’t have that kind of authority, but I’m a talented worrier, I can worry about anything.) So there was another week or so of freaking out about pretty much everything.
But there was no time to focus on this set of worries, because in the meantime, I had a trip to Michigan on my docket. You see, my brother graduated from the University of Michigan with a degree in Chemical Engineering, and since I’m stupid proud of his ass I felt I should go watch it happen. (Ironic, since due to a series of unfortunate events I didn’t end up attending any actual graduation ceremonies. C’est la vie, bitches.) It was great to see my family, and amazing to hang out with my little brother for a few days. I even got to have drinks with a friend from high school that turned into a wonderful evening of reminiscing and commiserating. But the weekend was also stressful in its own way. Of course, traveling is always stressful, (especially when you get randomly selected for a pat down…faaaantastic.) But the trip was also very emotionally complicated for reasons I’m too fucking exhausted to get in to, and being away from Kyle only added to the strain. So even though it was great to get to see my brother more than once a year, I was definately eager to get home. (Even if it meant being randomly selected to go through one of those new body scanners…faaaantastic.)
Except that touching ground in Albany didn’t really release the tension I felt in my chest. (Well, okay, there was some tension released when I got home, but that’s a totally different thing.) Because while I was wrapping things up with my family, Kyle’s mom and dad were driving in to Saratoga for a couple days. Now, let’s get one thing straight: Kyle’s mom and dad are fantastic. They are so good and kind to me, and have accepted me completely from the beginning. The only way they could be more rock star is if they were actual rock stars. But having company of any kind in town adds a certain level of manic energy, especially when nothing about the visit goes as planned.
The game plan for their second day in town was to take them in to the Egg with us. We had a meeting to attend, which would give them a little time to enjoy the sunshine and explore the plaza, and then we’d take them on a little tour of what will now be our second home. So Kyle and I are getting ready to pick them up before heading off to Albany, when all of a sudden Kyle announces that he needs to go lie down because he’s experiencing sharp pain in his lower back. 15 minutes later, I’m driving him to the ER. And he was in so much pain. Breathing heavy and grinding his teeth. They get him admitted and in a room. His pain is getting worse. By now he’s alternating between curled in the fetal position and frantically pacing the room. And since the woman came to take his insurance information, no one has been in to see him. We wait. I try to distract him from the pain by talking about the episode of Modern Marvels that I turned on, but I think it’s only pissing him off. The pain is getting worse. By now he’s in actual tears, and his hands are ice cold. And still no one’s coming. He yells at me to please, do something, go find someone, something. He is scaring the shit out of me, but somehow I managed not to cry. I run out to the desk, but the only person standing out there was a nurse-tech-dude. Practically in tears I tell him that my husband is in incredible pain and loosing sensation in his hands and face and is there anything he can do? I think he feels bad for me, and he tells me that he promises the doctor will be in as soon as he can, but he and I both know that he can’t do shit. We later found out that shortly after Kyle was admitted an ambulance arrived with a 19 year old who was flat-lining, (who obviously took precedence,) but we didn’t know that. All we knew was that Kyle was in incredible pain and no one was coming.
Finally the doctor did come, and after a CAT scan and some morphine, (which, let me tell you, made for a very happy Kyle,) he was diagnosed with one bigass kidney stone. He was given a filter to pee into and some drugs with street value and sent on his merry little way. I was beyond relieved that he was no longer in such horrible pain and that it turned out to be nothing worse. But unfortunately, it also meant that all of our fun, exciting plans for my in-laws instantly received the kibash. (Somehow Kyle no longer felt up to a six-mile hike…pussy.) Their replacement? A lot of hanging out and drinking beer (no beer for Kyle…sad Kyle). Not a bad way to spend time with one’s in-laws, but not what we’d planned.
And to cap off all this excitement was quite possibly the most exhausting weekend of work I’ve ever experienced. The day that Kyle’s parents headed back to St Louis I and the Egg crew loaded in a ballet. This went until around 5pm, at which point the ballet crew left and people from Stephen Lynch arrived. We then loaded Stephen Lynch into the space within the staging and light plot for the ballet, and he performed that night. (After which we loaded him out and restored back to the ballet.) The next morning we showed up ass-early to do a morning performance of the ballet, followed by an evening performance of a different show by the same ballet company. Back the next morning for another performance of the ballet’s first show, followed by strike and the out. And as soon as their shit was off the dock, we loaded in a third show, a musician named Bruce Cockburn. (Who’s last name, incidentally, is not pronounced phonetically. My bad.) Capped off the next day by the Taiwanese Community Center’s talent show-type thing. Not one of those shows was particularly difficult intrinsically, but together they made 50 hours of work in four days. 50 hours of ass-early mornings, near-constant running around like my hair was on fire, few meals and fewer bathroom breaks. By the time we loaded Cockburn out my brain felt like the consistency of tapioca pudding. It was only through sheer drive and a seriously unhealthy amount of caffeinated drinks that I made it through the weekend without injuring myself and others.
And among all that–the traveling, the company, the hospital, the work–was a vain attempt to keep the apartment from getting trashed, the laundry and dishes under control, the cats cleaned, fed, and not too pissed at me, and at least 5 miles of running in every day. I’m sure it comes as a surprise to no one that I failed miserably on all fronts.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is my life. Now, this is usually the part of the post where I have a South Park-esque wrap up, something along the lines of, “My life may be crazy, but you know, I’ve come to appreciate the insanity because it’s made me stronger,” or some other bullshit like that. But the fact of the matter is, I’m just too tired for that kind of nonsense today. This post ends with me, sitting on my bed in my pajamas with some warm milk, still exhausted even though I’ve been off since Monday. I’ve only just today gotten the house cleaned and the clean laundry under control, which, of course, means that I need to do laundry tomorrow. I’ve got these grand plans for my other two days off that involve planting flower boxes and driving to a running store two hours away for custom running shoes, but considering it’s taken me three days just to get the house clean and a fucking blog post written, it may more closely resemble laundry and an America’s Next Top Model marathon. But we shall see.
After all, if there’s one thing I’ve come to expect from my life, it’s that I have no fucking clue what’s coming next.
