I wasn’t sure I’d make it here.
But here I am. Enjoying my coffee. In bed. At 5am. On Friday morning.
“Coach Sunshine, are you ok? You seem kind of grrrr.”
She made a motion. That was either an annoyed house cat. Or a vicious mountain lion.
Either way. It was correct. I am both of those things this week.
Spilled my morning coffee all down the front of myself. Monday morning.
Probably not third degree burns. But an entire cup of coffee. Gone.
It was upsetting.
And the issue seems to be my meds. Because who knew that SSRIs make essential tremors worse.
And my counselor lectured me. For not telling her about the tremors.
But I’ve lived with them my entire life. I don’t even notice them as an irregularity anymore. I just can’t carry coffee to my office from the break room without a spotter.
But it’s apparently an issue. And she’s threatening to pull me off of my meds. And y’all don’t want me to be pulled off of my meds.
(She doesn’t know about the coffee. I dare a bitch to try to pull me off of my coffee.)
So she’s probably going to make me go see a neurologist.
To figure out what’s wrong with my brain.
Which feels like something I don’t want to know. Or pay for.
Also I drink my coffee in bed.
So I’m pretty sure my mattress has a nice, large coffee stain on it.
I don’t actually know.
Because I didn’t pull the sheets off and wash them.
Because I’m working 12 freaking hour days right now. And the last thing I need is to get home and not be able to crawl immediately into bed.
So I just put a towel down on the bed.
Ok, so Wednesday morning was faculty meeting morning.
So I was rushing.
So…when I spilled coffee. All down the front of me. In bed. Again…
I don’t know what level of burns are layering down my stomach. But we have to be getting to degree level burns at this point.
The layering of coffee on my bed, however. Is reaching critical level.
Because the only thing worse than going to sleep to the smell of stale coffee. Is waking up to it.
And again. Twelve hour day.
I’ll just sleep on the other side of the bed.
“Totally understand that logic. I would do the same thing.”
Which was bullshit. He would totally not do the same thing.
But GBFF…WHTBS is trying to be all nice. And shit. Because we’re all going through the same mind boggling level of absolute shit show at work. So he’s trying to be supportive.
It’s a little unsettling.
But it’s Friday.
And I don’t think I have to be at a cross country meet. Or at the airport. Or in Utah. Or anything tomorrow morning.
So I should get to sleep in.
Unless someone decides we need to run a mountain freakishly early.
And if they do. I’ll probably just go ahead and end that friendship.
So I can probably wash my sheets tonight.
While I watch Dune. In my flannel pajamas. And eat chips. And drink beer. And just be all kinds of attractive.
This year is not about being a functioning adult.
It’s about survival.