Sorry I'm late

I think it's the U.S. army or marines or somebody who has the tag line: we do more before breakfast than most people do all day. I'm thinking that just for today I'm appropriating it and changing it to: my life sucks more before breakfast than most peoples' suck all day. Seriously.

The backstory. I've been late a lot lately. I've been really tired in the evenings and instead of preparing for the next day (laying out clothes, making lunches) I've been going to bed and doing the chores in the morning. So my leaving-the-house time has been severely affected and my arriving-at-work time has been creeping steadily later to 8:40 instead of 8:05. So last night I set my alarm half an hour early, so that I could do the chores I didn't do last night because I was at book club, and still have time to shower and fix my hair before work.

For your viewing pleasure, I present the anatomy of my morning:

• 4:35 a.m. - Alarm goes off. I stumble to the bathroom and shower.

• 4:50 a.m. - I'm in the kitchen. Tea is not going to do it this morning, I make coffee. While it is brewing, I open the girls' backpacks which I didn't do the night before because of book club and I start making lunches.
  

• 5:07 a.m. - Coffee's ready. I bend over to get the cream out of the fridge and I seriously misjudge the overhead clearance (possibly due to wet hair flopping in my eyes) and bang my head against the freezer door hard enough to see stars (Hey. Look. The Pleiades! Aren't they pretty?).

• 5:08 a.m. - I carry the coffee to the living room and sit for a moment. I turn on CBC and watch the rerun of last night's The Hour, drooling a bit. But whether that's a result of the blow to the head or my strange subconscious fascination with George, I can't tell. I mean he's probably young enough to be my son if I were a twisted Appalachian stereotype. (I had myself figured for more of a Colin Firth kinda girl. Minus the reindeer sweater, of course. But I digress...)
  

• 5:40 a.m. - The lunches are made. I'm back in the bathroom to dry my hair. I flip the wet strands out of my eyes, look into the mirror, and recoil in horror. You've heard of death warmed over? Yeah, well I'm looking at death straight out of the fridge. Still in the Saran Wrap. Maybe 4:30 was a wee bit too early to be getting up considering that I was in bed late and that beauty sleep isn't a myth.

• 6:00 a.m. - The girls' clothes are laid out, and they are sitting at the table eating the first of the 37 pieces of raisin toast they will consume for breakfast.

• 6:45 a.m. - The girls are dressed, washed, combed and teethbrushed. I have started the car so it will warm up and I'm loading it with backpacks and bags*. (*foreshadowing)
  

• 7:00 a.m. - The girls have put on snow pants, snow jackets, neck warmers, boots, mittens and hats. We pull out of the driveway. Yay! Half an hour earlier than usual.

• 7:07 a.m. - Have dropped girls at daycare and am setting off to work.

• 7:09 a.m. - I notice that I'm almost out of gas.

• 7:18 a.m. - I pull into the Mr. Gas on March Rd and fill the tank. After replacing the gas cap, I lean back into the car to get my purse. IT'S NOT THERE. I have forgotten my purse at home. I explain to the gas guy, hand over my work I.D. as collateral, and drive back home (at least I'm not going to run out of gas).

• 7:28 a.m. - I return home and grab my purse. I have a moment of panic when I realize my keys are not in my hand and fear that I've locked them in the house (it's been that kind of day), but I find them in my coat pocket.

• 7:42 a.m. - Intent on getting to work, I drive right past the gas station and go a couple of kilometres down March before I remember that I owe the Mr. Gas guy $50 and I need my work I.D. Perhaps I am brain injured from whacking my head on the refrigerator.

• 7:50 a.m. - I arrive back at the gas station and pay for my gas.

• 7:52 a.m. - I attempt to make a left-hand turn out of the gas station onto March Rd. in the midst of the hellacious traffic that I originally left early to avoid.

• 7:56 a.m. - I pull out successfully.

• 8:00 a.m. - I reach down to grab the travel mug of sweet, hot, delicious coffee I made when I went back to the house. It's not there. It is on the counter in my kitchen. Damn.

• 8:05 a.m. - I pass a Timmie's and gaze longingly at it. I don't have time for a coffee now, as this is the time that I should be unlocking the door of my office.

• 8:50 a.m. - I get to work. Five minutes later than the latest I've been all winter. After getting up and leaving half an hour earlier than usual. I think this might be ironic. I am not sure. I make a mental note to check with Alanis.