Duelly Titled and Doubly Depressed: "Bad Day”—Fuel & “Not For You”—Pearl Jam

(and yes, I meant duel, not dual)
6 18 10
After I went to my doctor appointment today, I went to Kroger to get a few things. I had been thinking, for a couple of weeks now, that since I had taken the plunge about two months ago and gotten my hair highlighted that I might just go back dark, since my dark roots were growing out and my grays were showing again. So I took a detour through the hair care aisle and stopped in front of the hair dye. I was contemplating between medium brown and dark brown when a lady who worked there, who happened to be stocking the shelves behind and to the left of me said, “Oh, don’t put any of that on your hair. It looks good. It looks like you just got it highlighted.”


Yeah, like eight weeks ago. I glanced at her as she was speaking and then looked  back at the hair dye; if looks could kill, she would certainly be dead, or at least mortally wounded. I didn’t say a word. I was raw today, having just told my doctor that Mom had died and that I wanted to know what my risk factors were for the same cancer. I had cried today, and I don’t cry that often. I was thinking about saying something to the stock lady, but my lack of response seemed best. Hair dye was on sale, $3.25, dark brown—I think that’s what I grabbed before I turned my back and walked away, wanting to put as much distance between myself and nosy lady as possible.

As I walked away I realized that I was just angry. How dare she? Who are you, my mother? No—my father? He was always the one who said we shouldn’t dye our hair. But still. As I debated which pack of bologna to buy, the guy stocking the meat spoke to me. I think he said something like, “How are you today?” I don’t know. I don’t think I spoke to him, I might have muttered, “Fine.” Or something otherwise dismissive. I just remember thinking, why do people insist on speaking to me today? Do I not have my “get the fuck away from me” face on today? Apparently not.

Why is it that some days are worse than others? On Monday the plumbers came and fixed my plumbing problem. So, Monday afternoon I used my kitchen sink and dishwasher for the first time in three weeks. And I felt better. For a while...

So my Mom died. And then my kitchen sink got clogged. The people who came out to fix it said that the pipe wasn’t clogged, it was broken all to shit, under the concrete slab. And then, not too long after that, I got up in the middle of the night to pee, and instead of hunting down a new bar of soap, I opted to get the one out of the shower to wash my hands. But, alas, it had fallen from its soap holder onto the floor of the shower. I stepped one foot in, propped one hand on the wall to ensure that my pregnant ass wouldn’t slip and fall, and reached down to grab the soap. As I stood up I guess I put more pressure on my left hand and it went through the wall. Through the wall. Oh yes. So apparently the old people who lived in the house before us couldn’t be bothered with regrouting or resealing the tile, oh no. And the people who fixed it up and sold it to us couldn’t be bothered with warning us that there was a grout problem. That’s okay. I had spotted it right away. I even remarked that the bathrooms would eventually need to be retiled. But I didn’t plan on doing it now. I mean, I have a new baby on the way. I have a lot of shit going on right now. So is this some sort of joke? I mean, okay, wonderful movie plot. Funny, funny. Cosmos Man, you’re a funny guy, not particularly bright, but funny nonetheless.

So now, here I am, 33 weeks and 4 days pregnant, swollen beyond any normal shoe size (or ring size for that matter), depressed, moody, bitchy, and busy. Busy trying to keep ahead of the laundry and dishes. Busy trying to rearrange my house to accommodate new baby and new plumbing. Busy trying to keep the toys from tripping me in the middle of the night. I don’t need anymore drama than I’ve already got. And you, yeah you, inconsiderate stock lady at Kroger, if I wanted your opinion I’d give it to you.

So, all of this shit. This is not for you. This is for me. This is for Beth, who can’t get a break from the monotony of life. Beth who can’t call her mother in the middle of a freak out anymore. This, this is not for you.