How do you know when you’re having a bad week?
When everything literally says SCREW YOU at every fucking turn. Happy fucking holidays. And just to let all of you my beloved readers know fuck will be used with frequency in this post. To help to express my fucking awful week.
Let’s start off the week.
Picture this: woman with fabulous shoes but seven days worth of dry shampoo, little to no sleep, coffee maker fucking died, don’t have time to go get the elixir life, my office phone is being a dick (it keeps flashing and ringing but I can’t answer it, the whole point of a fucking phone is to be able to answer it!!!!!!), there’s no space on my desk anymore, and paper has taken over my office floor.
I’ve taken off my heels, I’m sitting on the floor, earbuds in my ear listening to loud drum & bass. Someone comes up behind me, to scare me on purpose. They think it’s funny. Funny, when I’m surrounded by fucking paper hills with no end in sight. It’s taken me over an hour to color coordinate and alphabetize them.
The scare causes me to hit myself in the face with the files I had in hand. They go everywhere. My organized piles are NO MORE. I grab my heels, put the office phone that isn’t fucking working in the trash (it’s not working anyways), and leaving my fucking office.
I’m over this shit.
At home, drinking my vino. Teddy is giving me a cuddle while I watch Netflix. But I’m having trouble seeing the tv. It feels like I have a contact in. I go to investigate. For those who wear contacts you know the feeling. For those who have twenty twenty vision, SCREW YOU.
I’m in Nurse Bunny mode. I flush, feel around, still nothing. I take Benadryl and wash it down with a glass of the red. Nap time for Nurse Bunny. (Caution: I’m not recommending drugs and alcohol combined. Remember judge free zone here.)
Next morning it looks like I was attacked in my sleep. Not the good kind of attacked. More like a giant swollen eye. Fucking hell. I repeat the process of Nurse Bunny without the Benadryl cocktail. Then decide it’s time for a medical professional.
I’m at the eye doctor. I tell him all. Doctor/patient confidentiality. I tell him I just need him to get the contact out. It must have rolled behind my eye, or there’s something small in my eye that I cannot see. The doctor makes that stupid uh huh sound.
Inner Monologue Moment: Really? What’s the situation? The noises aren’t helpful. It’s reminding me of going to my gynecologist. Just minus the questions about my sex life.
He informs me of my results. I’m thinking I’m about to lose an eye. OH MY GOD! He gives me a pitiful look. Fuck. He then tells me, “I’m sorry to tell you this..”
Inner Monologue Moment: Fuck! I’m really going to lose my eye. Makeup can not cover missing an eye! Glass eyes are not sexy. I’m never going to get laid again. FUCK MY LIFE! FUCK MY LIFE! Well fuck my eye actually.
“You have a eye paper cut. I don’t know how you did it. But it’s deep and long.” WAIT! Wait a minute? BACKUP. Paper cut? In my fucking eye? I’m still in shock. The doctor asks me what I do for a living. I tell him I’m an accountant. I live in paper hell five days a week. Sometimes more.
Inner Monologue Moment: My office is a fucking hazardous workplace! Maybe I can partition it off? Bring the doctors’ note with me for proof. Look at what fucking paper did to me!!!! FUCKING PAPER!!!! I’ve been saying we need to go paperless. Save the earth!
He sends me home with a yellow eye, drops, and an eye patch. Monday morning rolls around. My eye still looks like shit. But I’ve got an eye patch to cover it. I look like pirate. I just have no ship, booty, or minions to clean my hazardous paper hell aka my office.
As I walk into the office. I’m receiving strange looks. Due to the eye patch. You know that one colleague. The one who thinks they are gods gift to comedy. Well there she was. Reminder I’m on meds, with an eye patch, and I spilled my coffee in the car. So NO caffeine. ZERO patience. It’s another fucking wonderful day. On my way to paper hell.
FUCK MY LIFE.
As I’m about to enter my office, the one who scared me says from behind.
Good morning Captain! Shiver me timbers! How’s your eye? If it still hurts I can dig it out with a spoon.
My thought process it’s all the angry emoji faces. Plus the a couple fuck you fingers. But instead I force a smile, turn around and say, “Unless you have coffee turn around and go back to your office, or you’ll be walking the fucking plank.”
Tip: Get used to the fuckery, because this life is full of it.