Miss Procras. and the Wolf

So, sometimes, as a habitual procrastinator, Murphy’s Law intervenes and I am late through no fault of my own.

The dog ate my homework. I was washing my hair. I’m surfing the crimson wave. My car broke down. I have the black lung. ::cough ::cough::

Problem is, when those tried and true excuses actually happen, I’ve already used them so many times no one believes me. You can start referring to me as Peter, I don’t mind.

Seriously though, no matter how hard I try, I feel like some higher power is determined to make me tardy everywhere I go. Maybe it’s karma, or maybe God just has a sense of humor. If so, he was in rare form this week.

On Tuesday, I felt like my head had blown up to the size of a hot air balloon. I couldn’t breathe, a jackhammer was pounding my skull into a million pieces and my nose wouldn’t stop running. I passed it off as allergies and took a decongestant. Two hours later, when I was trying to go to bed early so I could wakeup feeling half-human again, the electricity at The Hoff’s house went out. No electricity=no heat=a frigid Miss Procras.

So, we drove the 20 minutes back to my heated, lit apartment and attempted to fall asleep. Attempted being the operative word. I never really fell asleep. Turns out decongestants have the same effect on me as 50 cans of Red Bull.

There was no way I was going to work running on virtually no sleep, sounding like a car without a muffler. If you looked up sexy in the dictionary you’d see of picture of me on Wednesday morning. I was that hot.

Problem was, I made a personal goal on January 1^st to be present and on time to work until the next holiday, Martin Luther King Jr. Day. Yes, I realize that’s only a span of eleven working days. Baby steps, my friends. I figured if I made it through that length of time, I could make it until the end of January, and then until President’s Day with no absences or tardies. Set the bar low, then gradually raise it-you get the idea.

Well, our dear friend Murphy, who can be quite the bastard at times, decided to bless me with one of the worst sinus infections I’ve ever had. My goal was shot to hell.

And it gets better.

Yesterday, I came into work, sounding more like a Pug than a muffler-less automobile. But instead of a stuffy nose and a pounding head, I was greeted by another visitor, and an unwanted visitor at that. Aunt Flo came to town. And while I’m thankful that there will be no little Miss Procras. or little Hoff running around anytime soon, she arrived a week early.

On the first day of her visit, I’m guaranteed a night of interrupted slumber. Usually around 3 a.m., I’ll wake up thinking I’m being stabbed repeatedly in the ovaries/uterus/fallopian tubes. Why my cramps decide to act up in the middle of the night, I have no idea. But this means I have to get out of bed, grab a slice of bread, some water, and a bottle of Advil, and wait in agony for thirty minutes until the pain reliever kicks in.

Unfortunately for The Hoff, last night he was forced to witness the wrath of Aunt Flo. When I couldn’t take the stabbing any longer, I woke him up and asked him if he could gather my weapons of defense. Only problem is, he had Tylenol, not Advil. Didn’t work as well. That meant another night of restless slumber for Miss Procras.

Hence, I woke up late, and was 20 minutes late to work this morning.

Murphy’s Law/God (or higher power of choice): 2

Miss Procras.: 0

Rough week for me. To unwind, I’m going on a keg bus this weekend. Never been on one, but a moving vehicle filled with 35 people and tons of alcohol sounds like a splendid idea. I’ll let you know how it works out. (Side note: I don’t have a good track record when alcohol and buses are involved. Should make for a fun post on Monday.)