It started, like so many things, the night before. I stayed up late doing laundry and fell asleep sitting on the futon/couch (that by the way is broken...the legs are so bent it's only about 8 inches off the ground now). A while later I woke up, got the laundry, and crashed back onto the couch.
An hour later I got up to fetch a glass of water.
A couple hours later, I woke up to help J prepare for work.
An hour and a half later, I woke up at the time I normally leave for work. "No worries," I thought. "I can still make it." I was a whirlwind getting dressed, which in hindsight may be why moments later I was hugging the toilet, nauseous.
But I still had to get to work. I was opening the store, and if I open it late, I get fired - simple as that. I would still be able to make it in time (luckily, it only takes a few minutes to get the store running).
I soldiered on, got dressed and hurried to the trax station. About half a block away I saw my train pull in. "I'll never make it," I despaired. But when I realized the time, I knew I had to.
I belonged in an action movie. I ran down the block, raced across the street, ran in the path behind the train. I heard the bells sounding the closing of the doors, and as they started to slide shut at the very back of the train, I ninja'd my way in sideways and sat on a seat, proud that something had finally gone right.
Boy, was I wrong. I'd gotten on the wrong train - one that took me back the direction I'd just walked.
I jumped off at the next stop and started hurrying the last half-mile uphill, with 8 minutes left. The nausea was back, but I made it...ish. Technically the doors were open at 10:00, because that's when I walked in the doors.
To make me feel even guiltier, there was a workman waiting for me so he could fix something. And the FedEx guy was there within minutes, who'd had to come back.
But I got the store open, with no penalty so I thought, maybe now my day will go better.
But I didn't feel better. Thank goodness for my awesome boss, who personally rented a water cooler for us in the back. I got a cup and filled it with some water...and immediately dropped it, spilling all of it on the floor and getting some on a large electrical box (I don't know what it does or what it's for other than that it is electrical and gives off a little heat).
I had to clean it up a little at a time, because I was the only one working and had to be able to see if people came in.
I was feeling so poorly, I determined that when the next person got there I should ask to go home. So I pulled up the schedule and found that there was no one coming in - until 4. This was also when my bladder decided to tell me it was full.
And that was part one. I started feeling better, so I decided to tough it out. The only other things that went wrong were things like papers stapling wrong or things that wouldn't even be noticeable otherwise.
I alternated between feeling fine and feeling sick, and ranked my morning as probably the second worst in my life. I finished my work day, had a disappointing dinner, and wanted to crawl into bed but - of course - company was coming in the morning and I had - as always - left cleaning to the last minute. So with a headache and a grumpy attitude, I cleaned the house and did the last load of laundry. I was nearly done (last load of laundry was in the dryer, living room was picked up and dusted, bedroom was done) when I came across a cake I made last week. We only ate one slice, because brilliant me forgot to follow the high altitude directions. Ever so delighted to be reminded of my failure, I tossed it in the trash.
Oh wait, no I didn't. Instead all the frosting slid off the top and landed in a giant plop on the ground. So I cleaned it up. Then stood up and realized I'd slathered a great deal onto my newly washed jeans.
I washed them off as best I could. Did the dishes. Tired, cranky, an hour past when I'd hoped to be done, I got the laundry out of the dryer and cuddled in the warmth. I flopped on the bed and let it all rest on top of me. And found my day's cherry on top - one of the towels had balled up in the corner of the fitted sheet and refused to dry.
I just pushed it to the side and cried.
Update: I did get the house clean, and I did get some sleep. To top allllll of this off, the next day I went in to work and found I'd gotten secret-shopped during the moment I'd pulled the trashcan out to the floor, just in case. Needless to say, I failed it (something about being distracted). It set in motion a whole train of unhappiness in the company. Huzzah.
But the NEXT day (today) I had the whole day off and didn't do anything. It was fantastic.
