Finally, the week is over.
There were times in this past week where I feared my life would be a never-ending loop of the last 5 days.
Over and over again I would experience the fear and panic of learning classes started Wednesday, that I would have to relive the chaos of having a house full of teenagers for a dinner I didn't prepare, and the humiliation of serving brie in puff pastry with the lovely burnt layer added to the bottom.
But the end of the work week is here.
Not that there weren't some glitches today.
For example, Keith locking me out of my office.
I needed, wanted, was desperately coveting a cup of coffee. In order to get this coffee, I had to leave my office.
As an aside, I have asked for a portable coffee IV but so far, no one is willing to provide one, and have suggested a coffee delivery service.
Seems there isn't any money in the university budget for personalized coffee delivery.
Too bad.
Someone could be making a fortune on stressed-out-overworked-always-running-behind- professors who need to nurse their caffeine addiction.
So, I have to schlep to the George Martin cafeteria for my fix of Fair Trade coffee.
Keith and Tim were in my office, and I expressly, explicitly asked Keith, while looking him straight. in. the. eye. to NOT lock my door.
I should have known there would be a problem; he was quite distracted this morning, because apparently talking to Tim is far more interesting than talking to me.
Meredyth was also in my office.
She came with me to the cafeteria.
I knew she would.
One, Mer has NEVER been able to sit still.
Two, Mer has a deep-seeded desire to "be seen."
Off we go. I get my coffee, talk to a few people, and start back to my office.
We run into Keith and Tim, who came looking for us.
Apparently, we were taking too long.
That happens on a small campus like St. Thomas. An innocent coffee run can take an hour.
Another reason for a personalized coffee delivery service.
I get back to my office, Mer in tow, because she needs her stuff. I put my hand on the doorknob.
It doesn't move.
Hmmmm.
Seems to be locked.
I patted my pockets for my phone, hoping I could call Keith and ask him to get his butt back up here and unlock my door with his key.
No phone.
Of. Course. Not.
Thankfully, one of my colleagues was in her office so I was able to use her phone, call Keith and tell him to get his butt back up here and unlock my door with his key.
It appeared as if he understood me. All indicators pointed to this.
Mer and I sat down outside my office and waited for him to make the 5 minute walk up the hill.
And waited.
And waited.
And waited some more.
My colleagues walked by, stopping to talk with us, inquire about how Mer is doing. . .
And we were still waiting.
Waiting.
Still.
No Pookie.
And then another colleagues walks by and reminds me that there was a master key in the building.
It didn't surprise me that I had forgotten this. Its been a theme this week.
Keith never did show up to unlock my door.
Right now, I am in my office, waiting for Stephen to come from a meeting. Em is going to the exhibition after school, Keith is in the only 3-hour-class-on-a-Friday-afternoon-I-have-ever-heard-of, with Tim, and Meredyth is here with me.
Waiting to go to work.
Sitting in the blue comfy chair in my office, wearing my electric pink headphones laughing to herself, loudly, complaining about how cold it is, loudly, and repeating over and over how much she doesn't want to go to work, loudly.
Me, I am going home, putting on my flannel jammies, and curling up on the couch with Frankie and Tikka, perhaps even Reilley, to enjoy my new cable tv.
And nothing else.
No-going-anywhere-preparing-for-company-entertaining-company-driving-kids-around-nothing.
The best kind of nothing there is.
A bit later into my Friday evening. . . .
First thing we do when we get home is to let the dogs out of the kitchen.
Tikka is standing by the gate, tail wagging, ears down, eyes dancing, so happy to that we're home.
Frankie is in his crate, aka the "Frankie hut."
He, too, was wagging his tail, ears back, making his Frankie noises-of-joy that he would soon be free of the crate, able to run around, leap throughout the house and frolic with Tikka.
I went into the kitchen for just a few minutes.
Less than five minutes.
Less.
Than.
Five.
Minutes.
I was making my way upstairs, and was nostrils were immediately assaulted with an all-to-familiar stench.
There, in my less than five months old Birkenstocks, nestled where my heels comfortably sit all day was the
biggest
pile
of
dog
shit
I've ever seen in my life.
A befitting and poetic end to my week.
Title Lyric: Friday I'm in Love by The Cure
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