Rebecca Black Friday

Liking Fridays is a pretty easy thing to do.  So is making ridiculously obvious statements.  For whatever reason, wife being away, impending conference of importance, overarching fear of success, I went to bed too late and woke up too early.

Now when Steph is away I am militantly organized to ensure the single parent disruption is kept to a minimum.  Snacks are prepped, breakfast fruit chopped, lunch ideas varied and abundant, spirit day clothes chosen and laid out – I take pride in running a placid morning routine to eliminate the potential where is mom tempest.  The boys deserve the smoothness.

So when the fucking raccoons managed to pry open the corner of the green been to pull all the rotting goodies out (including the fetid Alice shit) and spread it out all over our joint laneway, my plans for a stress free morning came to a screeching and muttering vermin murder under my breath halt.

But I get it – that’s life chimichanga, you prepare for everything else except for the things that accidentally happen.  Whether it’s strategic planning at work that one c-suite motherfucker changes with a sweep of his 50 dollar pen, or whether it’s the twitching whiskered nose of a hungry evil raccoon ripping apart last night dinner scrapings, you just can’t prepare for everything.

But it left me off.  Out of sorts.  Hands un-surgeon like.  Yawny and twitchy and I don’t drink coffee anymore.  A couple of really solid conference calls ironed out the morning, but the anticipation of the evening festivities – a couple of pints with some old mates – have me chewing the anxiety cheek and wondering what metaphoric raccoon lay waiting around the next corner.

Alas, and sadly, it will pass with a pint.  Not a crutch but a welcome relief after a challenging week.

At least I started another blog – it’s strangely cathartic.