Five Days Late

I am five days late. I had been working full time at the public library for over seventeen years until five days ago when I officially went from forty hours a week to twenty-four hours a week. No. Not pregnant. I'm sub-fertile according to my asshole Reproductive Endocrinologist, but that's another story.

When I switched to part time, it was my intention to start this blog. On day one. I'm five days late. But at least I'm finally here.

I have been spending a good amount of time with my family, especially my daughter Katie, who just recently turned "a whole hand." It's beyond wonderful.

I spent the last twenty-two years supporting myself financially, and now I'm closing my eyes and falling backward to let my husband, my amazing, sexy, funny, supportive husband Will, catch me. It scares the hell out of me and simultaneously thrills me. If I wanna write, I need time. I couldn't work forty hours a week, take care of Katie and our family and our pets and myself, and then have enough energy to write. Well, I did when I wrote the autobiographical novel about my brother's recent death due to liver failure, but that was the anxiety doing all the typing. And that too is another story.

So here is what I've been up to since beginning my journey into feminist domesticity.

Mostly staring at the walls, thinking. Like this: I think Nietzsche would have loved Facebook or Twitter or any other electronic means where he could share his insightful aphorisms.

Oh, crap! I'm supposed to be mopping the floor. Bad housewife! This is no time for philosophy jokes.

I don't know what I'm doing. I just poured coffee beans into the water reservoir on the coffee maker. Deep breath. I pulled out a Big Lots shopping bag and hung it from a cabinet door so it would stay kinda open. So then I remembered to take off the glass coffee pot and the basket and proceeded to dump the beans into the Big Lots bag...that I evidently didn't first check to make sure it didn't have a hole. So now I'm searching for our dust pan so I can clean the coffee bean spill in my kitchen. I'm ok with a broom. Katie is letting me borrow her's since I can't find mine.

So I remembered that Will had recently (within the last couple of years) bought a fancy dust pan with a long handle on it so you don't even have to bend over to clean up your shit. And it's black. And I have a green tendency to not turn on the light when I open the garage where we keep our broom and dustpan, and voila! With the light on, it was easy to see it was there all along. My frugal ways sometimes get in the way of time management, but they often lead to philosophical insight.

So I swept up the coffee beans. I poured water into the water reservoir this time, added a coffee filter to the basket and put more ground beans into the basket. I turned on the machine and successfully made a cup of coffee. By this time I was exhausted and could really use a cup of coffee. So I poured myself one, opened the fridge, and, we're out of half n half. Which is the only thing I like in my coffee. FML

I was really jonesin' for a cup of joe, so I searched our cupboards for some artificial creamer. Yay! The last time my mom visted she brought some powdered creamer. Bad thing was it was flavored - yuck. I prefer mine just plain coffee creamer flavored. This was vanilla caramel. But again, I was desparate. So I poured some into my coffee and stirred. But it wasn't getting lighter. So I poured some more. Still not lighter. Then it dawned on me that caramel is not as light as regular powdered coffee creamer. I took a sip. Bleech - waaaaaaay too creamy and sweet! My hard work tenacity ruined and I can't even treat my failure to a nice cup of coffee.

Ah, well. I'd continue with this titillating tale of my first world problems, but Katie wants me to play dollies with her now.