There are days when my productivity level astounds me. It is almost like I sit outside of myself amazed at how the little columns of numbers add up, and the stacks of paper are whipped into nice little standardized bundles of supporting documentation.
My hair even looks good on these days. My mascara is not clumping, there is no traffic in the school zones, and my favorite people don't call me to give me an excuse to give me somewhere else to put my attention. I am Producto-woman...hear me roar! I am the epitome of organization...you need that file? I have my hand on it. You want coffee? It should be ready right about...now. My checking account is balanced, my pantry is full, and I actually remembered to get something out of the freezer to defrost for dinner tonight. OH, and dinner will be yummy, satisfying, healthy, and low-fat. I'm SO Rachael Ray today!
And just so you know...days like these represent approximately 2% of the 365 each year. Which means that the other 98% of the time...the days look something like...well...THIS...
OH, I hear Big Dave in the shower...that must mean it is almost time for him to go get my coffee...what time is it? *roll over*
WHAT THE ?
What do you mean...6:30? And is that my coffee that has turned into something lukewarm sitting on this nightstand? What is up with THAT? Egad.
*Drag self out of bed.* Staring at me is Dixie, my shih tzu. This means that she has been waiting on me to get up and is NOT happy that I have obviously ignored not only David, and coffee...but her as well. I mean, heaven forbid that anyone other than me put these dogs outside for their morning ____ well, you know... How is it possible that I have overslept?
After washing my hair, I sit in front of the computer screen. This is a luxury that I am only supposed to allow myself IF I get up in time, which I have so NOT done. Ah! I'll dry my hair at the same time!
Um. No. That would be my immediate thought process upon looking at what happens to my hair while I am drying it and typing on Facebook and Twitter. It is a sad cross between Phyllis Diller and a barfly. This is, of course, PERFECT, since I have to go to the Probate Office and renew my drivers' license today since it expires on Sunday...which I assure you will be the day before the State Trooper that haunts the strip of road that gets me from out here in the sticks into civilization (the name of it is Pike Road...which is also the name of the town that I live in...which should tell you something about the thriving metropolis which I call home.) This particular Trooper can't speak in a way that any of my family (two of which have been stopped by said officer) can understand, but they get the fact that they are getting a ticket...the international language of BOHICA (bend over, here it comes again) is apparently sufficient enough.
SO looking forward to that trip to the Probate Office...which is also known as the third circle of Hell.
I use the straightener, look a lot like Rod Stewart's sister now, and I leave for work. It is late. Of course it is. When I arrive at work, there is no coffee because the hogs have shut it down already for the morning. One of the guys will make coffee, the other three apparently have wives who do that for them at home and have now convinced themselves that opening the premeasured packet from Royal Cup and putting it in the little bin thingy and pushing "start" is either too difficult or menial for them to concern themselves with because they are busy, busy, and obviously CAFFEINATED...which I am NOT...and desperately want to be.
I get to my office, and get a phone call from a friend who wants a favor...which I am glad to do, but I then receive a total of five faxes that aren't mine while waiting on the one that is. I then get into a conversation with a person who tells me that although it is his responsibility to do something...he can't figure out if he is really supposed to do it or not because he hasn't been doing it although the approval clearly states that he is supposed to be doing it and he wants to know if I think this is a big deal and I tell him absolutely yes that the examiners will be furious if they pull that file and so he freaks and asks me if it would be okay if he just sent it all to me so that I could do it for him and I say...NO.
Sorry. By this time, I have FOUND the coffee...and we are ON.
Anyway, moving on...I managed to get one thing done before Jill calls. She is going off because one of the three she lives with has hogged the storage bowls and leaves her non-matching blanket in the living room unfolded. Another one is leaving her clothes in the washing machine and the other is not cleaning and it is her week to clean.
I give up and decide to go to the Probate Office. I mean...why not? May as well. I'm about as productive as any given bag boy at Winn-Dixie when the manager is not around...and if I am not going to be able to do anything I'm supposed to be doing, then maybe I'll go to lunch when nobody else is, and I'll be more productive. As if.
I end up running a host of errands from calling a friend who is missing her freshman in college, returning a purple notebook (because I got the eyebrow over not only the color but the type of notebook it was) to Target, making Brian's deposit (so I can suck it back out of his account because he owes me money), and then going across town.
I go to Planet Fitness and cancel Jill's membership because she and a friend had a wild idea that they might go work out together but it was a colossal fail of 10 on the fail scale and so I wanted the $10 a month to just stop already. I then returned uniforms to Buckhead that Brian was supposed to return but hadn't (like I am remotely surprised by this revelation). This was probably a good thing as he snatched a pair of long pants out of the bag and put them on yesterday because they had chapel and he had forgotten about it and left the house in shorts. That's one demerit we will not be getting...which is good...because he has a belt aversion and naturally, he is supposed to be wearing one. Never mind that the pants weren't hemmed. Oh well. I left there, and went on to the Probate Office.
I passed two very pregnant women struggling to get to the door in the parking lot, and was pleased that I could at least move faster than they could. I got to the counter, and the lady looked at me and said..."the computer is down."
I leave, pass the ladies almost making it in to the Probate Office and I head over to Big Lots. I spend five minutes amid the stuff that would be really great if I A) Had any use whatsoever for any of it and B) They had the All Bran Fiber drink mix stuff that keeps me from eating. I ended up buying some mints, nuts, oatmeal raisin cookies for Big Dave, and some South Beach drink mix...a sad substitute for my All Bran.
I flew out of there to Taco Bell, where I - for the first time in my adult life - got excellent service in the drive-thru. The order was even correct. Hope I don't wake up at 2 am with food poisoning.
Anyway, I went by Bed, Bath and Beyond to buy those stupid slimline hangers to put the gazillion shirts I've been washing for two days on in Brian's closet. I bought a dog bed, too. Why? I don't know. I had a coupon. Sue me.
Got back to work and everything on my list was done except returning a bra to Belk's. Since I am fairly sure that it fits about as well as its twin that I hate with a passion...and therefore, I am tempted to just set the thing on fire, I am fairly sure that this might give me some closure...except that I want my money back.
So, I returned from my adventure...and got back to work. Sixteen phone calls and fifty some odd e-mails later, I realized that it was nearly 5:00. I'd be giddy, except that I won't be in the office tomorrow, and so I had to work late.
And it was raining outside.
I finally finished that deal and the one with the person from earlier, who had miraculously figured it all out and sent me what I needed. Yay for him.
I left the office and then went in search of a composition book. CVS was a wash. Winn-Dixie had it. They also had chicken, ice cream, watermelon, cheese, dog food, barbecue sauce and other stuff that I didn't really need on sale. So, naturally, I bought them.
After telling the bag boy who was flirting with the girl named Brooklyn according to the tattoo on her arm to get over and load my stuff in the cart, he asked if I needed help to my car. I let him walk with me long enough to tell him that if he didn't start paying attention to his customers that the cashiers were going to turn on him and sufficiently scared him before darting to my car.
And then I came home.
OH, it sounds like I had a very productive day, yes? Well...I got it all done...but it certainly wasn't pretty.
I have to be at the office at 7:00 a.m. tomorrow morning to drive to Mobile. Here's hoping that tomorrow is a Disney happy kind of day where bluebirds circle my perfect hair while I pull into the driveway of the bank at exactly 6:59. The odds of that are about as good as waking up spontaneously thinner, younger, and the latest Powerball winner.