March 2nd. Version Nadine.0

6:00

Alarm goes off. The DJ is announcing school closures. “If you don’t have to go outside, don’t,” is what I hear. I want to call in sick/slushed in. To make the best case, I figure I’ll get ready for work and have the weather stop me. Yesterday, I had to walk home in half a foot of snow, with the wind knifing me in the face.

6:45

Showered, dressed, makeuped (word of the day). I’m eating breakfast. The TV weather guy says it’s gross out. Theweathernetwork.com says it’s gross out. My window says it’s gross out.

7:11

I’m on the bus, heading to work. I left a rent cheque and a small list of bathroom-repair issues for my landlord in the drawer in the table in the entryway. And I left my laundry in a heap on the floor so I can do it the minute I get home.

7:50

At work. No delays, no real weather issues at all for transit. My pants are soaked from the flooding at the intersections. While I don’t want to be at work, I know I’d feel guilty sitting at home and leaving the massive workload to the few who chose to come.

10:31

Mom calls. She thinks I’m at home. I’m not. The sun is shining and the streets are drying up. It’s nice to talk to someone who’s not bitter/tired/stupid.

11:00

Wondering why anyone would want to watch TV on their cell phone.

12:00

So hungry. I go next door and order herb chicken on Caesar salad. I’m too lazy to actually walk to Queen St. where the selection/quality/prices are better.

2:00

I’m providing feedback for new subtitlers. It’s painful. I want to smash my face against a brick wall. I talk to one of my supervisors. There will be an intervention next week (read: shape up or you’re gone. And no, it’s not MY job that’s at risk).

3:00

Smarties and Diet Coke. My drug combo. I need rehab.

4:30

I’m out of there.

5:00

Grocery shopping. My favorite kind of shopping. I buy nothing with sugar or flour or caffeine; I’m trying to detox from my crappy week. I limit myself to 5 tomatoes.

6:00

I’m home. There’s a note under my door from my landlord. Everything is fixed. Which means she saw my crappy laundry-strewn decorating style. I love my landlords. Day-of repairs deserves an award.

6:15

Doing laundry. I run into the boy. The one behind my wall. After more than a year and a half, I see him. And he’s very good-looking. Darn. I’m in sweats that are 6 years old (and from +20 pounds ago). I’m the queen of the first impression. No formal introduction, but I think I’ve figured out his name from sorting through the house mail.

7:00

Yoghurt poured over grapes and cut-up apple. And green tea. I feel almost human again. And I Swiffer. Mentally plan an omelet for tomorrow morning. Because I’m a planner.

9:00

Finally done laundry. There’s nothing on TV except Top Chef reruns. So I’m half-watching. Misery is on later. I read the book, so I may watch it. Or I may go to bed. But that means I have to put my sheets back on. I may be tired, but not tired enough to go to all that effort of going to bed….