Some days are better spent in bed.
This morning I got up at 7:00am to the sound of my dog Fluffy furiously licking his paws. Apparently he has Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I thought that a bacteria or food allergy was causing my dog to constantly lick his paws – like going to town licking – but nope. The Vet checked. My dog has OCD. I swear the sound of his tongue slapping against the pads of his paws are in stereo. Loudest alarm clock ever.
I dragged myself into the shower. All was fine until in an instant the water turned scalding hot. I immediately jumped to get out of the shower, slipped on the side of the tub, grabbed onto the shower curtain like a rope and slid onto the cold tile floor. My wet, naked body somehow lodged itself in between the toilet and bathtub as the shower curtain that I had pulled completely down lay over me. Just then my son walked in.
“Hey Mom. What are you doing?” he asked as if I were peeling potatoes.
“Oh I don’t know honey. Just taking a break. You know how taxing these showers can be.” I stated.
“Cool. Let me know when you’re done.” My son left me on the floor without flinching.
I have been having a water issue in my building for the past week where cold water seems to be unpredictably available only 20% of the time which is driving me insane. I have become that hysterical lady calling the management office five times a day about the this inconsistent cold water epidemic but to no avail. Whatever. I was determined to make the day a good one and look on the bright side. I didn’t break a hip falling out of the shower, so that was something!
After getting dressed and eating a banana, I was ready to go about the day. En route to a commercial audition for some laundry detergent, I left my apartment and locked the door. I walked down the hallway to the elevator, pressed the button, and saw my elderly neighbour approaching. About to greet this ninety-something year old lady, I noticed that she was dressed for winter with one exception. She wasn’t wearing any pants. Like, nothing at all! She wasn’t wearing any underwear or pants!!!
I froze. Clearly she had no clue that she was exposing her old lady bits… (I hoped…) I had to stop her before she went into public.
“Hi. I’m Hayley. I live down the hall and, ummm, I think you forgot something.” I awkwardly said.
Just then the elevator arrived and opened to reveal a crowd of awaiting passengers so I quickly jumped in front of the old lady to cover her up.
“Keep going! We’ll get the next one!” I yelled at the elevator passengers when I felt some kind of impact on the back of my head.
“Ouch!” I moaned.
When I looked behind me, the vagina flashing old lady was holding up her purse about to swing it at me presumably again.
“Don’t hit me! I’m trying to tell you that you are not wearing any pants!” I pleaded.
The old lady looked down at her bare legs and said, “Don’t be ridiculous! I’m meeting Millicent at the playground. She spilled the milk!” The old lady muttered as she walked back towards her apartment.
Oh Lord. Is that what we all have to look forward to? Go through everything we do in life just to end up convinced that it’s 1925 while flashing an old lady vagina? God, what’s the point… I felt defeated before I even left the apartment building. On my way out I recruited the Superintendent to contact the appropriate people to ensure the old lady get some much needed assistance.
I got to my audition with only moments to spare and was called into the room where the advertising company reps and the laundry detergent clients were seated behind a long table. I was asked to fold laundry in a bin and say something to the effect of how much I love doing laundry for my family. I said the line with a sarcastic tone as it never dawned on me that anyone in their right mind would say such a thing and mean it.
Just then the Director, or maybe it was the ad agency rep (all these men looked the same in their beards, plaid shirts and skinny jeans), asked me to read the line like a happy 1950’s housewife. I started laughing out loud as I assumed that he was joking, but everyone looked deadly serious and remained silent as they glared at me. Oops.
“Really? A 1950’s housewife?” I said with hesitation.
“Yes.” The trendy little micro brewery drinking, condo dweller said as if my lowly actress self should not question the great and powerful Oz.
My ADHD spun out with a barrage of thoughts. ‘Little Hipster shithead. A 1950’s “happy” housewife? Just say the line! I’m sure women were thrilled in the 50’s with the pill popping and booze to numb themselves from the misery of their empty lives… Please God say the line. I’d like to kick Grizzly Addams in the teeth if I could wade through his facial hair to find them… Say the line? Why aren’t women writing these ads anyway… God it’s all bullshit… I haven’t spoken out loud in a while. The hipsters are staring at me.Better say the line. Think of the money…’
I knew at that moment how soul crushing being a Hooker must be. The ridiculous line was not coming out of my mouth despite my best efforts. I was like The Fonz when he tried to say ‘sorry’ and sounded like he had a severe speech impediment. I couldn’t say the stupid line. Who was I trying to kid? Some women aren’t meant to be Hookers… So I left the audition and seriously wondered what the hell I’m doing with my life.
I stopped at the bank to check if any Child Support was deposited into my account which would certainly brighten my spirits. What a shock! There wasn’t any as I go into the 4th month of Child Support arrears. Uch. Whatever. Let my ex lose his Drivers’ Licence. Again. Lovely human being. A real credit to the male gender.
Knowing that Yoga was my last shot at turning this negative frame of mind around, I realized something while walking to class. I am thin. I mean thin and in amazing shape. I thought that once I was thin and in great shape that things would work out. Like being thin was the key to unlocking the world’s good fortune. But, no. Not so. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’d rather be thin and enduring life’s bullshit then fat and going through the same nonsense, for sure. But life hasn’t really changed that dramatically as I had expected it would.
I felt better as I did yoga. As I moved through the poses I thought about the audition and fear of poverty. Quickly, the poses calmed my fear and an overwhelming sense of peace came over me when I realized that I am unable and unwilling to compromise my integrity for anything at this stage of the game. For better or worse, I take me. It is what it is. I know who I am. I have to live what is true for me or I don’t see the point in living at all. It’s that simple and I feel that strongly about it. As I left the yoga studio I decided to have faith in myself and trust that the world was a divine experience with meaning. It was a Namaste success!
And then I entered my apartment. I walked in and smelled something funny. It smelled like a hippie commune. As I looked around to find the source of the potent fragrance, I saw a tiny joint remnant on the balcony concrete floor. Really? My son is smoking a joint on our balcony like he’s Seth Rogan or something?
Great. Lovely. Charming. Could I not have an hour of at least pretending that there was some divine meaning? Fuck!
I marched into my son’s bedroom to find him sitting in front of his Macbook wearing earphones and eating out of a large bag of Doritos. I held the joint roach up to his face to get his attention and began yet another conversation about drugs. I was mortified, scared and upset.
As my fourteen year old son defended the pot smoking and nonsensically argued with me about the benefits of marijuana, it was like he was channeling his father. A sense of overwhelming anger and disgust came over me. I had to consciously disconnect from the moment as I saw his father standing before me in my son’s body. It was disturbing. Like the part of a horror film when the homicidal maniac suddenly pops into the mirror that the victim is looking at and the music starts screeching.
Things are not going well and I have no idea what I am doing. Naturally I will do my best and continue to fumble my way through this mess called life, but I’m not happy about it right now. I’m not gonna lie. NOTHING IS WORKING IN MY LIFE!!!
The water in my apartment isn’t working. At this rate, I’ll never be working again! My bank account sure as shit isn’t working. Trying to help out an old lady didn’t work and I got hit for my effort! My dog has OCD. What the fuck is that? And my son is a pothead?!? This parenting thing is clearly not working out that great either. I shouldn’t be parenting anything. Like not even a goldfish. I am the common denominator of all this dysfunction. I appear to be effectively spreading craziness around everything I come in contact with. It has to me! I’m not working.
I need a vacation.