Pity Party

How does one begin a day feeling inspired, excited, content, and peaceful, and end the day with a welt under her eye, sobbing while driving, and covered in urine? If anyone can have a day like that and live to tell the story, it's me. Here's the story.

The morning was good, fine, nothing out of the ordinary.
The afternoon, however, was a drastically different story, and the evening...well, see for yourself.

I had a short break between jobs yesterday, and I went home to sort the laundry that has been avoided for far too long. I found a cat poop in my dirty laundry. Gross, but not the end of the world. I calmly removed the feces and went about sorting the laundry that had to be washed anyway. I dashed to my second job of the day, childcare for friends including a piano lesson. The kids were fighting, like crazy. Screaming, punching, wailing, whining, it was enough to produce a slight headache and to elicit the laying down of the law. "No yelling, turn off the TV, please get along." I will admit, I began a little on the wishy washy side, softly pleading with them to consider my car and their home a safe zone, where everyone gets along and treats each other with respect. They looked at me as if I were from another planet, paused, and then proceeded with the clash of the titans. So then, the laying down of the law. They settled, and I went downstairs to start dinner. Shortly after my escape, "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA, I have to go pottty.......!!!!!" I closed my eyes and imagined trees, birds, water, quiet... The wailing continued. I sighed and began to walk toward the clatter.

I found a three-year-old screaming on the stairs, sitting about halfway down, with piss running out through her pants and streaming down the steps. Without thinking, I scooped her up and rushed her to a toilet. We left a stream of urine and pools of warm piss behind us, and in my swift rescue, I didn't realize that my own clothing was acting as a sponge to the still-streaming waterfall of yellow urine pouring out of the child.

Ok, so I got peed on. No big deal. Worse things have happened. I re-evaluated the upcoming evening: I was going to meet with a prospective piano lesson client after this babysitting gig, but I would have enough time to go home and change my urine-soaked clothing. Ok, things were still fine.

Then the phone rang, it was their Dad, he had to stay late for a meeting, he tried to get out early, but it was impossible, but he would get here as soon as possible. Ok, late is ok, but not too late, I have to have time to change my clothes.

Half an hour later, I called Dad back, "Where are you?" He was stuck in traffic, very apologetic, but not anywhere near home. I had twenty-five minutes before I was scheduled to be in South Minneapolis. I decided the change of clothes was desirable but not absolutely necessary, and I found some scented fabric spray that I lightly doused myself with. This is not common for me, I sneeze at scents, I choke on perfume, I despise the aroma of cleaning products. But this was an emergency.

Dad got back in the nick of time, I whisked myself away and scurried to my car. I took a deep breath, and revved the engine. Here we go, I thought, just enough time to get there, I am ok, everything is ok. Off I went.

I then realized that the interior lights were on in my car and I could hear a faint breeze. What? Oh, a door is open. One of the kids left a door open. At the first stoplight, I put the car in park and dashed around to all of the doors. The very last one I checked was not latched. I closed it, the light turned green, I frantically, pleadingly, anxiously ran to the driver's side door, still thinking, ok, I'm okay, just move fast, and as I hurried with all my might to get back into the car, I could see the impatient cars behind me, somewhere to be, honk, honk, hurry up, Lizzy, run, move fast, and suddenly---

SMMMMMMMMMACK!

stars, stunned, throbbing pain....

F$%^(SH*)(*G%$P#WHATTHE@M@#$!!!!!!!!

I slowly and painfully realized that I had run headfirst into the sharp edge of the ajar car door.

That was it for me. I managed to sit down in the driver's seat and pull the car over before I inadvertantly and ardently began to sob. I sobbed and sobbed, I wailed, I cursed, I bawled and screamed to myself, I threw myself a dazzling pity party, oh how unfair my life is, how sad, how miserable, how unfortunate....I looked in the mirror and saw that my eye was swelling up, I was certain I would have a black eye, I was convinced I had broken my cheekbone, I was sure that the pain was radiating to my entire face, my neck, my back, I could feel the impact in my legs and was thoroughly convinced I had incurred some serious nerve damage. I was probably going to have a stroke, right then and there. I was sure that now I wouldn't make it to meet my prospective client, and even if I did, I would be late, blinded, black-eyed, tear-streaked, glassy-eyed, concussion-induced, and soaked in urine. Who would hire that?

I called my girlfriend and wailed wordlessly over the phone. She couldn't understand what was going on and was thoroughly confused, but she has heard me in this state before and knew better than to be alarmed. She wisely told me to pull it together, take a deep breath, and just call the prospective client and say I would be a few minutes late. She laughed at the sad state I was in and told me, "If you get a client out of this, think of what it will say about your character. If someone hires you in this condition, you must be pretty convincing."

She was right. I pulled it together. I took a few deep breaths. I dried my eyes. I had a Nalgene bottle in the car, and I splashed some water on my face. I ignored the throbbing pain of my eye, my cheekbone. I looked in the mirror and saw a little red bump and a miniscule cut, but it wasn't that bad. Ok, Lizzy. You aren't having a stroke. I looked at the clock and saw that I still had 10 minutes. I called the prospective client and let him know I would be a few minutes late. His voice was warm and jovial, saying it was no problem, thanking me graciously for the call. I graduated from my pity party and starting telling myself affirming things, "I am ok, I am professional and respectable and competent, I am just fine."

Generally, while covered in piss and tears, while driving with a smacked eye, after a pity party, generally in that situation I wouldn't actually consider myself to be professional and respectable, but sometimes you have to tell yourself really far-fetched affirmations in order to pull yourself together. I have learned this from other similar situations.

So, there I was, in my car with no doors ajar, with nine minutes on the clock, safely out of the way of unpredictable car doors, smelling of cleaning product over child pee, sufficiently affirmed. And I made my way to the client's house.

And guess what, the interview went smashlingly well, and I am starting piano lessons with this new client on Monday.