The Day The Whole World Got On My Nerves

What is it? Is it a change in the way the wind blows? Is it a planetary alignment? Is it Aunt Flo?

Why are some days filled with countless little nagging things that add up to make you want to lose your sh**?

I underestimated my bank balance and had to scramble to put money in account so next week’s rent will clear. I was trying to pay my phone and internet bill but I couldn’t access my account because I’ve burnt through my paltry broadband allowance and the page for Vodafone (a company that has comically bad service) wouldn’t load. 

Can I just say how irritating it is to pay 75$ a month for broadband that runs out around the 15^th and a simple phone line where calling cell phones from it costs about 50 cents a pop? I’ll bet you didn’t know that New Zealand was trapped in 1998. Well, now you do.

I had to make numerous trips to the bank. First they told me they would charge me $10 to send my payment through to Vodafone. Then I had to walk to the public library and sit on a child’s star shaped stool at tiny child’s table to get on a proper internet connection. Then Vodafone wouldn’t let me get into my account so I had to request a reset of my password which took several minutes to arrive in my email.

There was a big juicy fly buzzing around my head the whole time this was going on and it landed on my arm twice. The feel of it's tiny body resting on me made me so livid that I entertained fantasies of squashing it to a pulp for the next few seconds in order to calm down.

I had to march back to the bank to get my online user number (which is a confusing number that has nothing to do with your actual account) and then go back to the children’s table at the library to pay the Vodafone bill

As I was walking to the bank again, the wind picked up and blew up my dress, causing me to flash people on the sidewalk. It seemed like the sidewalks were just filled with elderly and aimless walkers who moseyed and sashayed and took their sweet time while walking in front of me. I finally made it to the ATM so I could do a cash transfer but the gale force winds kept buffeting me about and caused the flashing of more panty to the elderly sidewalk users.

This afternoon I had to pick up the kids I work with and they were fighting with each other and giving me orders and doing all the things kids normally do but the fact that I am cramping, bloated and hormonally compromised at the moment made me feel mean and testy. 

I had to take them to their rugby games where more errant zephyrs blew us observers around like slips of paper. Also the parking lot was filled with directionless drivers who kept reversing and turning erratically which made me irritable as I watched them.

I'm going to take a deep breath, have an Advil and call it a day. 

In Which The NPR Uses "The Danger Voice"

I suspect I can be mildly eccentric over some things. I can't think of what any of them are at the moment, but I'm pretty sure if you asked someone in my family they could provide you with a list.

Anyway, last night I was reading through a paper from the Journal of the Polynesian Society and making good use of my pink highlighter while the NPR sat beside me drawing pictures of emotionally tortured anime characters.

She wanted to listen to some music from Spotify while we worked and I said I didn't mind.

She got irritated when I wouldn't give her suggestions for songs to play, asked what kind of DJ I was anyway and declared that my room was "boring" and that she was going back to her own.

A few minutes later I heard her call out, "Mom, come here" in what I can only describe as "The Danger Voice."

The Danger Voice is a tone that someone takes when there is a potentially fatal situation requiring immediate attention. It informs the listener that "sh*t is about to get real."

I sprang from my bed and headed toward the NPR's room, fully expecting to see some unsavory character menacing her with some sort of weapon.

Instead I entered the room to find her pointing toward her nightstand lamp with a frightened expression.

"This had better not be what I think it is," I began, leaning toward the lamp for a closer inspection.

It was.

There on the edge of the lamp was a spider, roughly the size of a large snowflake.

It had already laid out one cross section of web. It hung there limply, suspended by its bum and seemingly dazzled by what I can only imagine was the equivalent of a human being staring into the sun at close proximity.

I swiped at the strand of web and it came away stuck to my finger on one end and the spider's hinder at the other.

The web strand swayed back toward the nightstand and the NPR and I watched as the offending party touched down on its surface and scurried away.

The NPR looked contemptuous.

How dare I abet the enemy.

I lost my cool then.

"How many times do I have to tell you about tiny spiders and their threat level?" I said.

I stormed off wondering where this silly phobia began and recalling all the other times she had called me into her room in California to deal with minuscule arachnids of no consequence .

I thought if I told her how most animals do not attack unless they are threatened she would simmer down but she still insists that the spiders have diabolical plans for her.

Today she informed me that the same spider (she was sure of this) had crawled over the edge of her laptop last night and looked at her. She recounted how she had bravely blown it off the laptop and onto the floor.

"And you lived to tell the tale," I said.

In my own room at the moment there is a cellar spider hanging out in one of the corners and minding its own beez.

There is also a Wocket in my pocket and a Jertain in my curtain and I could care less.

I think I'll look for an Arachnologist at my university and see if they can't come over and conduct a one-day seminar on house spiders and their habits.