So... it's 11:45 pm on a Tuesday. I feel like if I were sleeping right now, the universe would probably be okay with that. After all, it's Tuesday. But if you know Nick, you know that his mind
never sleeps. Which is why I've spent the last few hours translating Nick-speak into workable budgets and business proposals.
I see the word "Proposal" glaring at me across the top of the page...
Quick check to the bottom right for a date check...
And realize that seven months ago today, Nick was putting together a different proposal. And without my help!
If there is one genuine thing I could say about my life, it's that no one could ever say it's dull. While I feel like I've always been a magnet for madness (with maybe even a little un-invited drama a la carte) I know for certain that the crazy gauge went berserk four short years ago when I started dating Nick. When I think about it that way, it only makes sense that our proposal be just as chaotic, with twists and turns at every corner.
Since I started working at the state college in Niceville, I have been graced with the benefit of a college schedule and lots of holidays. As you can imagine, this has been a really tough adjustment for me (cue in audience laughter) since I have to plan what to do with all of that precious time off (cue audience eye rolling). So for my two weeks off at Christmas, I had big plans to clean and organize our new casa, do lots of blogging, and get ready for some Texas-style R&R with the Wik fam in San Antonio!
I survived my first Saturday and Sunday off without so much as a scratch and was looking forward to some quiet productivity time while Nick was at work. Call me crazy (or normal) but I do love a quiet house. Then on Monday it started raining, which pretty much made me the happiest person ever. Had it been sunny, I might have had to divert from my plan and do something un-productive instead. "A rainy day you say? Fabulous! While I'm at it, I might as well get a quick workout in too! Lose those holiday pounds before I even put them on? Why not!" I put my gym clothes on and started out the door for CrossFit when alas! A package on my doorstep! Christmas come early, hooray! Oh, how I love the holidays.
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
I lean down to pick it up my joyous new package and whoosh! Slip, BOOM. Something pulls in my back and I am suddenly laying shoulder-down on my front porch.
Did I mention it was raining?
Of course it was raining. Doesn't there HAVE to be rain when things like this happen? Flashback to the great fall of November 2007 when I ended up in the hospital with a cervical sprain, concussion, and a bleeding brain. On Thanksgiving Day. A rainy Thanksgiving Day. Which also leads me to believe that there is also some weird holiday connection to all of this.
Seriously. I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.
Anyway, so I'm on my front porch, literally screaming in pain and wondering how in the heck bending over to pick up a package has left me on the pavement. Especially considering I never even got to the part where I pick up the box. And! Just to add insult to injury, I still don't know what's actually
in the box.
SO annoyed right now.
At this point I feel like one of those people on the Life Alert commercials. Which is totally not helping my attitude. The only things in my view are Lucy and Gia (staring blankly at me) and my phone, which is on the counter top about ten feet away. I start wondering if maybe the dogs could get my phone, then quickly realize that
my dogs lack that Lassie-esq gene for saving the day. Timmy could just say "Lassie, quick! Get help!" and she would come back in record time with a capable adult, a sheriff, and a first-aid kit. (And they say reality TV is unrealistic.) Meanwhile, I cry for help and my dogs rear up their hind legs and start barking at me, tails wagging.
Where did I go wrong?
After realizing I'm flying solo on this rescue mission, I do what any respectable 26-year-old-at-the-time "adult" would do. I start screaming profanities at the top of my lungs.
Then, I scoot.
I am embarrassed to say that it took me 11 minutes (per the microwave, also in view) to inch slowly and painfully to the counter, which I reached just in time for Nick to come waltzing in the door from the gym. Singing.
Yep. Sounds about right.
My back and neck were in such bad spasm at that moment that I couldn't pull myself up on my own. Nick helped me to the couch where I just sat there crying. (Not exactly my shining moment.) He thought maybe the bed would be better, except that when he tried to lean me back I started aiming my profanity screaming at him, to which he responded by pulling a switcharoo and helping me to the truck instead. Viva la hospital. Happy vacay!
The worst part of the hospital was that everyone assumed, being that I was in sporty gear, that I injured myself working out. When I had to explain that (a) I didn't make it to the gym because (b) I got distracted by a package and injured myself leaning down to pick it up, not to mention that (c) the package is still sitting there because (d) some sort of unidentified back and neck spasm has taken over my body... the doctors couldn't stop with the joke reel. And they also insisted on taking this:
Not exactly the holiday scarf I had in mind.
Doctor's orders required 3 different medications and strict instructions to wear this fashion-forward neck collar for the next 10 days. Great. Sure. No problemo. It's not like I had plans or anything. I can totally just clean the house next month. Christmas shopping? There's another one next year. My family might still love me then. And ten hours of driving to Texas? No problem. Those bumps in the road will probably feel like a massage.
Meanwhile, Nick had something up his own sleeve. After barely surviving a car trip with my (half incoherent, half evil troll) self, we roll into San Antonio.
To be continued... sorry, no bling in this blog...
