On Toilets and Bloatage and Pimples Named Hubert

Some days can seem like a week,

if not a month.

You wake up knowing the list of tasks that need to be accomplished before the sun sets is one where most items require more vigilance and brainpower than you know you have in reserve.

And to top it off just before you leave the house you hear your toilet running and you don’t have the time to stop and try to figure it out or fix it so you just end up turning off the valve, and then spend most of the day thinking

about the toilet.

So you leave the house and realize that your front drivers tire looks somewhat flat.  But you don’t have time to check the poundage so you just

drive.

Thankfully you have just enough change in the reserve coinage you’ve collected for the parking meter to buy yourself a latte at the drive thru.  So you do, but you don’t notice that the barista didn’t include a spill stick until it’s too late and so it spits up coffee and foam on the white blouse you decided to wear today with your new black pants in an attempt to feel “pretty” and hide what feels like PMS bloatage.

You realize “today would be a good day to medicate”

even though it’s not even 7:30 am.

So you arrive at work medicating with caffeine only to find an agenda for the staff meeting in your mailbox and now realize a staff meeting will extend the rollercoaster ride for an extra ninety minutes today.

And you slog through the day made even longer because the lovely lunch you’ve made for yourself sits patiently

in the refrigerator at home.

And the only real amusement you find in the day is  your colleagues obsession with the pimple at the end of his nose that you really haven’t noticed until he decides to point it out to you and refer to it as his “third eye” and decide to name it “Hubert” if it says longer than a week.

Then, finally, the day is over and you’re surprised to see that it is actually still daylight. So you put on your coat and walk across the treacherously icy parking lot made more treacherous because you’re exhausted and you can’t seem to muster enough energy to regain your balance and “catch” yourself from falling. But you make it to your vehicle without severely injuring yourself and drive home to deal with your nemesis the toilet.

And so you turn on the valve and fill up the tank.

And wait.

And miracle upon miracles

it doesn’t run.

And you wonder if the panic it caused you this morning was only just a figment of your imagination,

or that the universe has taken pity on you for your exhaustive day

and solved this one for you.

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