We all complain from time to time about the day from hell. Then we hear about someone else’s day from hell and ours doesn’t seem quite so bad. So here’s my day from hell for Friday, April 15 (and what happened the day before that set it up) and how I got through it:
I woke up on Friday determined to shake off the day before. Thursday had been a series of annoyances and challenging emotions--being upset and trying to understand the other person’s situation that was causing my upset. I was great at making the other person feel okay, but I wasn’t doing well because each situation made me uncomfortable because I was the one “sucking it up” and going on as if everything was “okay.” For example: the cleaning lady who is a wonderful, sweet, reliable person overslept and called after she was an hour late saying it would be another half hour before she could arrive. Okay, I rolled with it and moved some projects around. Separately, a great person was leaving my company after many reconfigurations of trying to make things work and me finally pulling the trigger that it wasn’t. The other employees don’t understand the situation and I’m left feeling like the bad guy that I’m not.
There were many new business projects in key stages to be dealt with, and then the emotions of the day got the better of me, I felt sad and awkward, and I went home early and planned to work late. I was one cup of coffee into my evening when a series of unanswered calls to my son and ex-husband and his girlfriend revealed my ex had hit something on the road, had a flat, and was in a bad spot. Discovering the approximate location, I drove out to try to help only to see flashing lights as I approached. Heart in throat, I drove closer and saw they were both okay. Emotional words about cell phones being off were exchanged as was a hug and kiss for Wil and I drove back home, shaken and tired.
Marc was a a hockey game so I worked well into the night after 2 calls to my sister who has a way of making me feel better no matter what (thanks B!). Sometime in the evening I found that one of the cats had, again pooped outside the litter box, off in a corner--a new twist on things that had started the previous Saturday when my son’s friends were in the basement where the litter box is kept. I cleaned it up, ranting at both cats about how this was all they needed to do to find themselves back at the shelter from which we adopted them as kittens. Unlike a dog who will at least act penitent, cats just look at you like the crazy person you clearly are.
During the long hours at my computer, the cats were nearby and at one point around 10:00 p.m. Glinda came up to me and I ruffed her head and we looked into each other’s eyes. All was forgiven, as usual.
So I was determined on Friday to start fresh. It was a day that should have gone smoothly. We had officially landed a new client the night before (perspective: so Thursday wasn’t all bad) and I had a call with another potential new client scheduled for 10:00. There were some things I needed to review, a few strategic initiatives to tackle, and then I was going to take my son to get his driver permit paperwork submitted and to look at cars.
Uh uh..
Right before the 10:00 call, I realized that I still hadn’t seen Glinda that morning and didn’t recall Marc saying he’d found her. We both had observed not seeing her in the morning over coffee, but that wasn’t unheard of--her highness usually shows up later in the morning than the other cat, her brother, Jerry.
At 9:45, I started looking for her, expecting to find her under a chair in the bedroom of Marc’s daughter, Ali. I could’t find her anywhere on the two main levels so headed to the finished basement, expecting to find her on the new sofa and ready to shoo her off.
Instead, I found her dead at the bottom of the stairs.
I knew she was dead before I saw her eyes.
I called Marc, then the vet. The vet called me back. I postponed my 10:00 call via Marc. I spoke with the vet about Rachel having lost her dog, her grandmother, and now her cat in just a few months time. The vet recommended against Rachel seeing the cat “like this” but I knew Rachel would need the visual confirmation. I convinced the vet’s office staff to go against protocol and not freeze Glinda until Rachel and WIl could decide if they wanted to see her one more time.
Rachel was taking the train to Rutger’s to visit friends there. I called her and said I missed her and could I come give her a hug at the station before she visited her friends. She said, “Sure” and we agreed to meet at 1:35. Then I drove with Marc to the vet, left Glinda there, went to Wil’s school, told him the bad news. I had been concentrating on Rachel because technically Glinda was her cat, but realized of course Wil would be very upset too. Of course he was upset and he came home with me. Marc went back to the office, Wil and I waited around until it was time to go to the train station. Then we waited, WIl hanging back until Rachel saw us. She saw me and smiled, then saw WIl, asked him why he was playing hooky, the look that something was up spreading on her face. I quickly hugged her, held her, and whispered that Glinda had died. She instantly cried out “No!” and she became hysterical, wailing, chocking. We sat--all 3 of us--and hugged her and waited for her wailing to subside. She looked like zombie as we walked to the car and drove the half hour to the vet. The emotion was about the cat, and then again, it was about more--just as we knew it would be.
(Freshman year at college is hard enough. Being in a challenging academic program makes it harder. Put that program in NYC when you’ve only lived in the ‘burbs your whole life--more stress. Roommate challenges--pile it on. Have your dog be put to sleep right before you start it all at the end of August. Wow. Now add your beloved Nana dying right after spring break.... Had enough? But wait, there’s more--now your 6-year-old cat just died. Go ahead honey, cry--let it out!)
They were pulled together by the time we got back to vet in Princeton. The vet’s team made Glinda look peaceful, repositioning her and closing her eyes. (Many thanks!)
Wil was very upset about the cat but also because by leaving school early, he didn’t get to spend time with his girlfriend before she left for a family trip to California for a week. I said of course she can come over after Marc agreed to be chaperone because I assumed I was driving Rachel back up to Rutger’s right away. It turned out that now Rachel’s friend couldn't meet her until 8:30. Okay, change of plans: Wil hangs out with his girlfriend, Rachel and I have mom-daughter time. Marc goes to his home office and works. (Marc, you are a trooper!)
Bill arrives to take Wil for the weekend and afterwards Rachel falls asleep on the couch. Up at 7:30, out at 7:45 to get to New Brunswick by 8:30. Incoming texts say her friend is sending a proxy to meet Rachel because she’s tied up until 9:00. Rachel knows the other girl and they exchange a series of text messages about where exactly to meet. Frustration growing as pedestrian friend doesn’t know street names or building numbers and gives directions designed for other Rutger’s students.
New Brunswick is an absolute zoo. It takes us an hour to drive through this very very small city. Bumper to bumper, lights changing with no progress, something is going on but we can’t tell what it is. Inching--literally--our way down George Street I can feel my blood pressure going up, my face flushing from the agitation.
Finally we get to Hamilton Avenue and see a host of firetrucks, ambulances, and police lights several blocks ahead. Traffic is at all but a stand still. I ask Marc to walk Rachel to meet her friend’s friend which will be faster than I can drive the last 1/2 mile. Kisses and love you’s and Rachel is off. I continue to plod along until I can finally turn onto College Avenue and pull off to the side, flashers on, parallel to the “grease trucks” and the hordes of students feeding on a Friday night.
Marc finds me 15 minutes later and we head out, moving faster now, then turn right and see Route 18 and supposed paradise--the promise of open lanes and a fast exit.
But of course not.
Every driver seems to be on adrenaline and steroids and we witness (and are a part of) 3 near misses before, in seconds, we come upon a newly minted accident in the left lane, cars smashed, EMTs working hard to get things right. The police haven't’ arrived yet so we’re able to move around the accident quickly. Sidebar, the other side of the highway is at a stand-still just like in-town had been.
I feel like I’m in the Murder by Auto video game, which is what my mouth says when I mean to say Grand Theft Auto as I quickly dart around the other cars and move to the fast lane, joining in the chaos and driving well over the speed limit, zig-zagging my way to Route 1 and the familiarity of insanely timed lights.
Two and a half hours after leaving our home for what should have been an hour-long jaunt, we sit down at the Ruby Tuesday’s on Route 1 in Princeton and I succumb to mac and cheese--the ultimate comfort food--and tears.
On an up note, today seems (suspiciously) quiet.
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