And that's how I started my day today. Not with contacts, but with Salvation Army. Who, as I mentioned above, can suck it.
A couple weekends ago, mom, me, Prof, mom's boyfriend and my brother got all the furniture out of my dad's house that was in good enough shape to donate. Its solid stuff. Old and seventies like, but solid and in pretty good shape. I absolutely wanted poor people to have that furniture and pitched a fit when anyone talked about just taking it to the dump. It took all day, and by the time the day was over, I was at my brother's throat (a story for a different day) and it was time to get the hell away from my family. But, I was pleased with what we had accomplished that day.
So, I called Salvation Army and arranged a pick up, and waited two weeks for the designated pick up to happen.
And it never did.
Prof stopped by dad's house on his way home yesterday and called me late in the afternoon. "Salvation Army didn't come." Ok. Well. Lots of stuff can happen during the course of the day, so I didn't pitch a fit. I was sure they would be there today. Good thing I didn't take the day off work to sit there with the stuff and wait for them.
At 8:01 this morning, I called their service center to find out what the status was. The guy on the phone, who either had not yet had any caffeine or was just a natural born ass, told me that in fact, they were there, but decided not to take the stuff. No other reason was given. Not that it was too old, or too dusty, or too brown, just that they decided not to take it.
I was told on the phone when I scheduled the pick up that taking stuff was up to the discretion of the driver. I understand that. Salvation Army can't sell a couch with dog pee on it, or a table with three legs (unless its a 3-legged table, but you get my point). No problem. But we carefully picked out furniture that was serviceable and labeled it and dusted it...
When I hung up the phone with the guy, I started crying. It was just 8:04 am and tears were just rolling down my face. I had to close my door at work and grab my box of tissues. Was I crying because Salvation Army snubbed me, those bell ringing bastards? No. I was crying out of self pity and frustration. Everything with dad's house has been such a struggle and I'm trying to do the right thing and I keep getting thwarted and don't know where to turn next and the whole process is taking so much longer than I thought it would and I feel guilty all the time that I'm not there scrubbing the floor with a toothbrush and patching drywall and I want to not have to deal with anything having to do with my dad anymore.
That whole thing just hit me in the face and I couldn't stop it. Even though I'm in charge, the situation seems largely out of my hands. Family is involved, decisions about every little thing seem to be made by committee and we are all getting testy with each other. And now at the bastard bell-ringers.
Of course, I called Prof immediately, but I was inconsolable. I just needed to vent. He was great of course, but I didn't want to hear supportive things. "Its temporary." "We'll get through this" and "I'm here to help you" just didn't do it for me. What I wanted was a punching bag, and more tissues. And something stiff to put in coffee.
Starting your day off with a good cry doesn't really set you up for a good day. The crying gave me a headache, and my eyes have been stingy all day. I just felt like I couldn't smile or laugh or joke. I was morose. Managed to get to the gym for Pump class, even though what I wanted to do was eat comfort food and sleep. Lifting weights helped put me back in a better frame of mind (I used to reach for a cigarette, now I punish my body with exercise). And when I got back from the office, there were flowers on my desk and a simple note from Prof to say he loved me. Then I cried again. He's going to get some sort of award someday.
Tomorrow will be better.