An Open Letter

Dear Monday,

I realize that starting off the week at 4am drinking red wine/7up combo (I only had a splash of wine in my glass and since I am trying to be more green and not wasteful, I mixed it with 7up instead of tossing it. Don't judge me, it was delicious, and as an added bonus my stomach ache went away!) and playing catch with my cat until about 5:30am is not the best way I could have handled starting the week, but still - you coulda helped a sister out.

And I know that I moved out to the cabin so that I could be in love with, and bond to, have a trusting relationship with my cat again, but again* - you coulda helped a sister out.

No shower curtain so have to take a shower all exposed to my bathroom like some weird, pornographic bathroom flasher - ok, fine.

Soaking wet cat toys on bed because James has not forgotten he likes to shower with me, but now brings catnip mice. Then drags mice to further kill/play with on clean sheets - great.

Four, count 'em, four phone calls from boss asking when I'm going to be in to work and can I make it at 6am - alright.

But then get into work, and spend three hours so tense I can't even move my head now because neck has apparently disintegrated muscle and regenerated itself into concrete and re-bar neck so walk around looking like I'm trying to do the robot, or some weird sort of awkward white girl crumping, and find Advil bottle is not filled with little pills but is instead filled with non-dairy creamer, then find that my yogurt is currently being eaten by little Russian man despite the huge "AS's" written all over it, realize AS's looks like Ass, crack self up for a little bit, then have to eat coleslaw for breakfast because it's the only thing left in the fridge without someones initials on it, stomach ache from last night starts to come back, all the while my favorite plant almost catches on fire because one of the office smokers is playing too close to said plant with their lighter - Not cool, Monday. NOT. COOL.


I hope Tuesday can pull your ass out of hot water, because mama's tired and is now afraid she's going to freak her cat out with sharp, herky-jerky movements.

Just used the term herky-jerky.

Thanks Monday. Now I'm my mother.



Sincerely,

Amy





*I don't think I wrote about it here because I was too devastated but James ran away and was missing for five months. Then my cousins found him living all cushy at their neighbors house a few days ago and when I went to pick him up he was all, "Woman, this is not cool. You can't leave me for five months and then expect me to come running back to you." and the lady who had been watching him was all:

"He doesn't even look like he remembers you."

And I was all, "Bitch, back up off! This is my cat. I got him on my birthday, I raised him, I loved him, I nursed him. . ."

"What?"

"What?"

"Tori come here."

"Oh my gosh you named him Tori?"

"He's a boy?"

"Usually the penis gives it away, but yeah."


Anyway, two minutes after I got him home he was all, "Oh yeah! You! I love you. WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL MY LIFE?!" **

**And really the woman who took him in was super nice and loved him, and I'm so grateful, but still had that vague feeling of walking in on my babysitter trying to breastfeed my newborn.