Day One: Wake up fairly alert and scurry to shut off alarm before it wakes The Husband. Tip-toe silently through a dark bedroom gathering clothes and other things I might need. Gently open and close the bedroom door. Spend five minutes posing in front of the bathroom mirror. Brush teeth, wash face, moisturize, pluck two stray eyebrow hairs. Brush hair and lightly spritz myself with Escada’s Sunset Heat. Get dressed, grab lunch and my purse. Arrive to work on time and cheerfully greet coworkers. (Okay, “cheerfully” might be a stretch, but I’m sure I at least smiled.) Contemplate a nap in the afternoon, then decide I’d rather bake instead.
Day Three: Wake up feeling as if ten-pound weights are strapped to my body. Snooze the alarm three times. Sit on the edge of the bed for a few minutes rubbing my face as if that’ll somehow rub away the fact that it’s so early not even Starbucks is open and the only people awake are East Coast bloggers. Haphazardly grope around in the dark for things I might need. Completely ignore The Husband when he gets up to use the facilities after having been woken up from my opening and closing of closet doors and dresser drawers. Arrive to work ten minutes late. Grunt at coworkers and avoid eye contact. Take hour-long nap after arriving home.
Day Five*: Wake up feeling as if I took up boxing lessons the night before. Don’t bother snoozing the alarm because WHAT’S THE EFFING POINT!? Turn on all lights and the television. If I’m going to be miserable, so is THAT MAN. Slam the bedroom door. Slam the bathroom door. Splash cold water on my face and skip the shower. Contemplate wearing a hat to work and backhanding anyone who tries to tell me it isn’t “in the handbook.” Kick the cat as I walk out the door. Arrive to work on time. Eat a candy bar for breakfast because, as far as I’m concerned, calories don’t count at UNNATURAL O’CLOCK. Fall asleep sitting at my desk. Receive written warning. Use string of colorful words to tell my boss what I think about it, him, and the whole freaking job. Get escorted from the premises. Knock over a bank on the way home because, obviously, I’m now strapped for funds. Fall asleep in the back of police car.
*Day Five is tomorrow and could, possibly, be an exaggeration, but if you don’t hear from me again relatively soon, please send bail money.