It's Only Tuesday

On Sunday morning, I woke up to the television telling me that it was having trouble communicating with the satellite.  I did not panic about this because I very wisely stockpiled 47 episodes of Mad About You on the DVR for just such an occasion.  If the apocalypse ever comes, I will have no bottled water or canned goods to offer you, but I will have tons of coffee and a wicked collection of 90s sitcoms.  As God as my witness, I'm going out caffeinated and entertained.  Just as I lived.

Yesterday, I spent over an hour on the phone trying to troubleshoot the problem but nothing worked so the service guy will be at my house tomorrow sometime between 10 and 4.  Awesome.

On Sunday night, I decided to put a souvenir champagne flute in the dishwasher because it had been sitting out on our bookcase for the last two years.  It was from the Senior Ball my senior year of college, which I went to with Joe, and it had the event and the date in scroll lettering on the glass.  When I took it out of the dishwasher, the glass was in tact but the lettering was gone.  So now it's just a champagne flute with no significance whatsoever.  That sort of sucks because the event was open bar and occurred weeks before college graduation, so that champagne flute was the only proof I had that I was there because I certainly don't remember it.  

On Monday, Lily knocked her favorite toy behind the dresser for the umpteenth time and when I moved it, the little musical figurine my grandmother gave me before she died of a grandmother with angel wings holding her granddaughter fell and smashed.  It played Wind Beneath My Wings when you wound it up, and if you had asked me before Monday, I would have told you it was one of my most precious possessions.  I collected every single last shard and put them in a box and put the box on the top shelf of my closet because I will have to deal with that emotional clusterfuck at a later date when I am more prepared and I just cannot right now.

This morning, I accidentally pressed "off" on my alarm clock instead of "snooze" so I was super duper late to work, and as I was running out the door, I noticed an envelope taped to our door.  I opened it and read it as I walked to my car and turns out it was a warning notice since we didn't pay rent this month.  True, I didn't pay it.  Because our last month's rent was prepaid when I moved in, a fact I confirmed before I didn't pay it.  Only turns out, the property manager isn't sure why she told me that because she can't find the record that I paid it.  And here's where it gets fun: neither can I!  Except I know I did, I know it.  Isn't knowing something without any actual proof fun?  So I'll just pull that unexpected rent money out of my hoohah, because that's where I keep my stockpiles of invisible money, right next to my pet unicorn made of chocolate, and my master plan to solve the budget crisis. 

Tonight, I'll enjoy a TV-free evening alone with my thoughts, sitting completely still lest I touch anything and destroy it, the exception being a ginormous bottle of wine.