Kristy Kelly: When Did Life Get So Weird?
In what feels like another life, my days were strategically planned around working the required eight hours, and then going home to tend to little humans in various stages of chaos. I understood the assignment. As long as they didn’t die of starvation or filicide, I was doing a good job. That was my parenting barometer — survival.
Now, with no tiny humans demanding juice or threatening chaos at every turn, I expected peace. What I got was... something else entirely.
This morning, I woke up, made coffee, and sat down. I didn’t have a single human to worry about but myself.
I would love to say I did that all in order, but it went more like this:
I got up and made my way to the bathroom. The first thing I noticed was the toilet paper roll was empty, so I changed it out. There wasn’t a garbage bag in the bin, so I went to get more from the kitchen. While I was there, I put water in a mug and placed it in the Keurig.
Then I grabbed a few garbage bags — I like to leave extras in the bottom to avoid mornings like this — and went back to the bathroom. As I was putting the bag in, I noticed the baseboards behind the trash bin were discolored compared to the ones in the corner.
Back to the kitchen I went for paper towels and surface cleaner.
At this point, my bladder was thoroughly confused. We'd been up for 20 minutes and hadn’t handled a single morning ritual. It only took two minutes to wipe the baseboards and stash some paper towels in the cabinet for next time.
I caught my reflection in the mirror. The morning Crypt Keeper is not a good look for anyone. Moisturizer was now priority #1.
Unfortunately, all of my face creams and potions are in my office — not in a logical place, like the bathroom. On the way to retrieve them, the dogs reminded me (loudly) that they too had bodily functions and expectations.
I hadn’t put away the surface cleaner, so I hooked it onto my bathrobe belt like some suburban Batman, and stepped outside with the dogs — who then decided to antagonize the neighbor’s dogs at full volume.
It was during this cacophony of canine chaos that I realized: I still hadn’t had any coffee.
Once the dogs were taken out and fed, I went back to the kitchen. The spray cleaner I thought I’d hooked to my belt was gone. I didn’t care enough to look for it. My mission now: coffee.
I have a “Wednesday” mug from the TV show that says “I’m not weird, everyone else is.” I couldn't find it anywhere — not in the cupboard, sink, or among my usual abandoned drinking spots.
I resigned myself to using the lone, ugly mug from a bank that hasn’t existed in two decades. I could already feel it ruining my entire day. The mug you drink coffee from matters. The wrong one can set off a series of unfortunate events — or so my brain insists.
Luckily, I found the Wednesday mug right where I left it: sitting on the Keurig. I pressed the magical power button and walked away.
Three sneezes later, I went searching for allergy pills. It’s pollen season in North Carolina, which means my sinuses are at war with nature. The mom in me is hardwired to keep a stash of every over-the-counter medication imaginable — the Dollar Tree generic kind, of course, because I’m also hardwired to be cheap.
As I embarked on this new adventure, my phone alarm went off — a reminder to take my regular meds. Mid-search, I went to find my old lady pill case (seven compartments, one for each day, because who can remember anything anymore?).
Surprise win of the morning: there were already allergy pills in it.
Victory!
Now I just needed something to wash them down with. But someone had actually done dishes the day before, which meant all my scattered cups were mysteriously... gone. I attempted to dry-swallow the pills.
Cue twenty minutes of coughing, hacking, and trying not to sneeze too hard — because I’m a 45-year-old woman who’s birthed four kids, and the pelvic floor doesn’t play games anymore.
Back in the bathroom, I again caught my reflection. This time, I stood there poking the wrinkle in my forehead and trying to remember what I was supposed to bring back into the bathroom. I had no idea.
Whatever it was, it wasn’t important enough to chase. I headed to my office, still in a brain fog that refused to lift.
At 6:25 a.m., my son walked in with a steaming hot mug of coffee, paper towels, surface cleaner, face moisturizer, my phone, and my keys.
Unfortunately, it was too late. I had to go to work.
So when I say I’m exhausted before my day even starts?
This is why.
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