A day that started out like any other day turned into one of "them" days. I opened the fridge to pour some milk for my morning latte and then opened the freezer for ice. Before my eyes was nothing short of Salvador Dali's "The Persistence of Memory" with everything dripping and drooping, melting and morphing. I was suddenly thankful that I had little to no groceries and had procrastinated stocking up for Christmas.
In true OCD fashion, my morning routine consists of counting all of the things I have to do before I leave the house. I don't always remember what those things are but I remember the number of things I have to do and cross them off my mental checklist as I go. It seems to work.
Off to work.
Seven things, I had seven things to do. I only remember getting up to number six. What was seven? Deodorant!!! Noooooooo. Thankfully, I had a short day ahead and would be safe in the air-conditioning all day. Except, I had to stop and put air in my tire. Remaining relatively cool and managing to keep my missed number seven anxiety at bay, I got back in the car and cranked the AC. Where is my antibacterial pocket pack?! After vigorously searching my purse and causing the missed number seven anxiety to rise, I remembered where I left it. It was in the purse I took to the movies so that when I paid for my popcorn I'd feel less uncomfortable licking my butter fingers.
Finally at my destination, body temperature intact, an inopportune run-in with a psychiatric patient ensued. I remembered what we were taught about positioning yourself near a door if you felt threatened by a patient. My only door was an emergency exit and probably locked knowing the functionality of the hospital. So I excused myself to take a "phone call." Crisis averted but definitely creeped out.
Home.
If my food can't be cool at least my body can. I turn on the second AC unit in the living room which is now apparently blowing warm air. I'm reminded that I'm now home and can finally correct the missed number seven. Feeling way more tired than usual, I am looking forward to that afternoon latte. By now the milk in the fridge is just safe enough to give me one warm latte. I drank it with no ice out of pure desperation. As the day turned into night I found the apartment strangely quiet. At long last! The seemingly invisible pantry cricket has made his escape! He only knew one vowel (e) which he sung all through the night from his alternate universe, unseen and unscathed. Just as I decided to turn in for the night, I turned off the lights, walked toward the bedroom.....
"eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee".
No. Way.
With my mini-muffin baking pan as my proxy ice tray (who owns ice trays anymore?), I better be able to wake tomorrow...
....and have a latte.
