I try so very hard to be a somewhat organized person. I have bins, drawers and folders. Entire systems! But all it takes is a bout of stomach flu, a busy errand day, a strong breeze- and all of my plans and organization are right out of the window.
The worst part of all this, aside from having to kick my way through toys from one end of the house to the other, is that I often lose things- keys, pets, or in this case, my cell charger. (By the way- no English teacher should read my last run-on sentence if they don't want to develop a nervous tic)
Yesterday, I put my charger with my phone on my computer desk.
Last night, when it needed to be charged, it was nowhere to be found. Typical. The only working alarm clock in my house is on that cell phone and I was certain it would be dead before dawn. Even though I was tired enough to want to cry, I began the fruitless search for the charger.
Anyone that knows me well, knows I only search for something about 15 minutes before I began ransacking like the CIA in Baghdad.
Nothing. I said lots of bad words and may or may not have thrown a hissy fit.
Feeling guilty, and still so tired that my tongue was thick and I was debating sliding one of my new steak knives across my throat, I picked up some of the mess I had made when I tossed drawers and stands and boxes and cupboards.
Finally, I pray that 1 battery line on the cell means that if I don't use it, it will sit nicely until 630 am when I need it to wake me and fall into bed. I was never so grateful to have my 6 year old kick me in her sleep whilst she stole my blanket.
Ping-ping-ping! Why that is the sound of my dead phone shutting down in the middle of the night! I may or may not have punched my cheap plastic dresser, thereby making it extremely difficult for the cheap plastic drawer to slide in, but I digress.
I angrily flop out of bed and begin the hunt for the charger anew. This time I have the half-baked idea that since I put laundry away yesterday, the charger may have inexplicably secreted itself away between my fleece pj's and gray sweats to taunt me from the closet. I tear apart the closet...and my dresser...and everything I tore apart earlier in the night...and the hall closet...and the coat closet. I am so insane with desperation that I begin checking the pockets of the clothes I had worn yesterday- like I 'forgot' I shoved a big plastic rectangle charger into my jeans.
I may or may not have knocked my head into a wall while saying every version of the F-word I know.
I return to bed, sick feeling, because now I have to rely on my body, the one that has never been faithful and supportive in 37 years, to wake me in time to get my son to school. I underestimated my internal clock. It woke me in PLENTY of time.
4:45 am to be exact. I then crawled out of bed approximately every half hour, to check the time on the kitchen clock, until 6:40 am, when it was time to wake my son for school.
After he got on the bus, I hurried (well, my version of hurry- hunched in my coat to hide my bra-less state, limping along in my bedroom slippers) home. I quietly slipped into my room, where my youngest lay on MY side of the bed. I carefully eased her over to her side, cursed the pain this caused to my lower back, and gingerly lowered myself on the mattress.
Success! I closed my eyes. 10 minutes later my youngest woke up. Yippee frigging skippee!
Still haven't found the cell charger and I hid the steak knives. It is going to be a long day.