Isn’t it ridiculous how much an exam can stress out a person?!? I feel worse this time around than I’ve ever felt earlier. Those who say that it gets easier with experience and practice, let me tell you, they L.I.E! I’m so beside myself I’m not sure I can be reckoned among the sane anymore Y_Y I swear, I become this …other person, someone I really don’t want to know. My poor family, well at least my poor hubby feels it bad.
A couple of weeks ago we had this huge row - that in hindsight started partially because hubby had a bad day and wanted to spread his misery and partially based on stupid misunderstandings - that just grew and grew, resulting in me quitting smoking and being the queen of martyrdom for 4 days until hubby got on his knees begging for mercy, for me to start smoking again and promising me green enchanted forests and all the gold in the world if I only became, at least, semi-human again…yeah…ugly…I know @_@
…and today was one of THOSE days. I had a doctor’s appointment this morning. I’m not quite sure why, but doctors scares me senseless, the minute I walk into the office my brain takes a temporarily leave of absent and what’s left is a zombie talking mumbo-jumbo – today the mumbo-jumbo talking zombie was purple-faced as well.
See, I decided to use my son’s bike (he’s got a new lady’s bike, old fashion style) and I got the code for the chain-lock on a text message from my daughter. Even though it wasn’t locked, I tried the code several times to make sure it worked, which of course it did not. But now it was too late to take the bus and I had to really step on it to make the appointment. There was a strong wind today, and by the time I got down there I was pretty poofed. I started fiddling with the lock again. No luck. I called my daughter on the cell, but she just repeated the code and told me that it was just an ordinary chain-lock, how hard could it be?!?
Now, I have asthma, and the thing with asthma is that when you’ve worked yourself hard the ‘effects’ doesn’t really start showing until after you’re done (here; riding the bike) your face gets R.E.D. …imagine how beyond red it got with me standing bent over the darned bike fighting with the unholy chain-lock?!?
I was now late for my appointment and gave up on the lock, instead I did some spiffy handywork to make it look like it was locked and ran upstairs and sat down to wait for my turn. I felt sweaty and I knew my face was nearing blue by the strange looks from the other patients waiting their turn. The appointment was over almost before it started. The zombie phase set in and being worried the bike would get stolen, I more or less forgot why I was there and after 4 minutes sort of just apologized for wasting his time and ran out of there <_<.
Well, the bike was still there, but my problems weren’t over as I had to visit the bank as well and since that was downtown I HAD to be able to lock it. So I started working on it again 7-1-7-1-7 and 1-7-1-7-1 just in case my daughter had gotten it wrong – to no use. I called my daughter again (at high school I might add) by now I was getting frustrated: “THIS GODDAM THING IS FRIGGIN’ IMPOSSIBLE TO GET UP, WHAT KIND OF SHIT-LOCK IS THIS?!?” My daughter found the whole thing highly amusing and sweetly replied that nothing was wrong with it, it worked fine, it was me who weren’t doing it correctly, and that the lock was sometimes a bit hard. At this point I was stepping at the chain with my foot and pulling on the other end with one hand while groaning into the cell with the other “AAAAAARGHHHH! A LITTLE HARD?” (This afternoon she told me that she was in the school canteen and her schoolmate looked worriedly at her asking who the hell she was on the phone with – and then it struck me that there is a good chance I had an audience of bored officeworkers while I was at it [dies a little])
I was now downright annoyed and thought ‘Oh to hell with it all!’ and texted my son at junior high asking what his chain-lock code was. His reply came in his chat-abbreviated-lingua: ‘begin ur pho’
…I stared at it for a while wondering whether it was my son or I who’d lost it and replied ‘WHAT?’ He must have felt the vibes of that ‘what’ because shortly after the first digits of my cellphone number came. I entered them and voila! The chain-lock opened nicely and smoothly with no further ado.
And without too much further ado (one of the offices had moved and I had to search for it a little) I did my errands downtown and headed back home and now I think I’ve procrastinated enough and will get down to some serious studying again!