There's Not Much Cookies Can't Fix

The question I’ve been pondering all day: why do you hate me Friday?

In the grand scheme of things, it’s small potatoes. Hardly anything, really, for me to fret over. But I needed something to write about before I go on vacay next week and don’t touch this space for oh, about 10 days (not that I’m on vacation for 10 days, but I have to consider the vacation you feel like you need after you get back from a vacation where I also won’t be doing anything productive).

The day got off to a terrible start at about 1am when I got up to use the bathroom. Everything was fine and dandy until I went back to sleep and started dreaming crazy Halloween-level scary shit (I know everyone says The Exorcist is the scariest movie ever, but Michael Myers,hello? Dude still gives me fucking nightmares. If I hear that music…I just can’t). In the dream, I was in South America w/ some girl from high school who I’m FB friends w/ now; obviously a real bestie. We’re walking around town getting ready to go out and suddenly all the lights go out and it’s pitch black. Have I mentioned how much I’m afraid of the dark?

You know how in scary movies when friends are always teasing the goody-two-shoed friend about being scared of the dark when the power goes out and freaky shit has been happening all day? And then the goody-two-shoed gal feels bad for about two seconds until her friend has a fucking knife through her face? There’s a reason people are afraid of the dark; b/c it’s dark and scary and dark. 

The dream involved a lot of running around in the dark and hearing screaming and shit all around me and eventually trying to make my escape and no one is helping. And it was one of those dreams where I’m running but it’s not fast enough, and I’m punching but it’s not hard enough, the kind of dreams that make me think that if I ever am in a situation like that, I’m totally fucked. B/c I’m obviously going to be in South America w/ this chick from high school in the near future.

There’s no better way to wake up than sweaty and terrified, I mean, it’s all downhill from there. So I’m at work and my hand is bothering me and I’m like, what the hell is this business. Then I remember that last night on the walk to the train Brent was joking around about this girl at work who is into him. And I was joking around that I was going to ram my finger up his butt. Except I wasn’t joking and I wound up and went in for the kill…and got major tailbone. Brent walked away unscathed and I jammed the hell out of my middle finger. I think the drinks from dinner helped w/ the pain and I didn’t think anything of it until this morning like, huh, this is the same finger I jammed last night, I wonder if it’s related (morning Brig is quite brilliant, if you haven’t noticed).

I leave work and go to the hospital and a nurse looks at it and gives me a splint. 

she asked me what happened and I said I did it in the kitchen; I didn't want to get into what I was trying to do to my fiance

She was so nice and convinced that it wasn’t broken and I just need to ice it and keep an eye on it, that I didn’t even question her. Until now when it’s throbbing like a bitch. Typing a whole novel of a post probably has nothing to do w/ that, though. 

I just need it to be tomorrow, when we’ll be in Florida w/ a swimming pool in the backyard and Mickey and Pluto down the road.

For today I've got these jammies cooling on the counter. There's not much peanut butter and M&M's can't fix, am I right?