I don’t recall if I have ever mentioned this, but I am an executive assistant. I type a lot. Really, really a lot, and really, really fast. Typing is one of the very few things I can say I do well with my left hand (I am a very dominant right).
After enjoying a week off of work during Thanksgiving week, I woke up on the morning of my return to the office with excruciating pain in my right wrist and hand. I sucked it up and went to work, but as the day went on the pain got worse…and worse…and worse. I whimpered all the way to my chiropractor’s office, where I hoped a miracle would be performed.
No such luck. She very kindly poked, prodded and generally made me whine more, then rattled off her diagnosis – blah-blah-blah tendonitis. Note I missed the actual fancy name she used. My brain latched onto the word “tendonitis” and that’s all she wrote. I dealt with tendonitis in the knee when I was a teenager (involving a trip to the emergency room courtesy of my mother) and understood what I was dealing with. I was extremely grateful she did not utter the secretary’s dreaded “carpal tunnel syndrome.”
Anyway, After two weeks of near-daily visits to my chiro and a desperate call and subsequent appointment with my GP (netting me stimm treatments, stretches, and drugs that I won’t take) , I am on the mend.
Or, I was.
I woke up this morning to a scratchy, sore throat, a plugged head, and aching ears. And a chest that had an invisible elephant sitting on it.
The crap that’s been going around my company for months has finally struck me low. Damn it.
Adding insult to injury is the beautiful, yet unfinished, Christmas tree that is about three feet in front of where I currently sit.
Our first Christmas in this house was a little batshit, so The Man and I chose to get a pre-lit tree rather than haul the 7 1/2 -foot nekkid tree out of the basement. The pre-lit tree had been used ever since, and the monstrous forerunner languished in its lowly corner of the abyss, collecting dust and spider webs.
Yesterday, The Man finally got the gumption to haul the three pieces of the pre-lit tree up the steps to the main floor of our ranch home. I was doing the big cook and couldn’t help, so I listened helplessly as the cursing grew louder and more violent.
You see, the POS tree refused to light. At all. Not one single light.
In order to stave off the inevitable, which we both dreaded, we actually hopped into my SUV and hauled ass over to the local dollar store to see what they had. Money is tight now, as is time, so if we could find a pre-lit tree that fit in our budget, I was buying it.
We got a 6 1/2-foot tree for $25. We got the box home, The Man opened it up, and within seconds we were giggling like loons. You see, the box advertised a tree that looked like this. The reality was more like this. We found our purchase to be so funny that The Man took the tree to show the neighbor.
After our hilarity subsided, we sighed and The Man went back to the basement to dig out the very expensive, very…wide…Christmas tree that hasn’t seen the first floor since it was carried to its resting place after Christmas 2002 (our house was The Man’s parent’s home and they kindly stored our tree for us each year). After finishing all the cooking for other people, I began sorting branches into piles – only to find out that for some odd reason, we ceased our tradition of putting our tree stand into the box with the tree (makes sense, don’t ya think?) the last time we used it. That meant I had to work my way through 1400 square feet of crap (the basement is as big as the house) that belonged to the in-laws and the shit that’s accumulated over the last 5 years we’ve lived here TO FIND A DAMN TREE STAND. I was not amused.
I really hate getting dirty when I am inside and nowhere near dirt, sand, or the barn.
Back to the tree. After finding the tree stand, The Man got the main pole leveled up and I wrapped the first set of lights (100 of the little bastards) on the pole. Over the next 6 hours, I meticulously (and perhaps touched with a little OCD) wrapped every single branch of the flippin’ tree with colored lights. 2,800 lights total. Yes, TWO THOUSAND, EIGHT HUNDRED LIGHTS HAND-WRAPPED ON THIS STUPID TREE THAT FILLS MY LIVING ROOM. The tree is so full of lights, it doesn’t need ornaments. But just because of my anal nature, I will be making some yet this week. The Man is insisting on his fugly angel on top of the tree this year. and I insist on safe ornaments because of The Gidge, so I am going to make flour-based ornaments shaped like angels and will incorporate the beautiful tree skirt my mother made years ago.
I can hear you saying, “So what. Big deal. How could you consider all these problems as “billy hell breaking loose?”
I have also run out of xanthan gum.
I am begging for mercy.
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I don’t like laughing at others’ misfortunes, but that story was HILARIOUS.
except for the no xanthan gum part. that really sucks.