almost forgot: we conquered #15 while we were at the coast a couple of weeks ago. now if only I could have remembered to stop at the natural spring (#4) on my way home.
September 1, 2010
#15
almost forgot: we conquered #15 while we were at the coast a couple of weeks ago. now if only I could have remembered to stop at the natural spring (#4) on my way home.
July 29, 2010
july 29
By Small and Small: Midnight to Four A.M.
For eleven years I have regretted it,
regretted that I did not do what
I wanted to do as I sat there those
four hours watching her die. I wanted
to crawl in among the machinery
and hold her in my arms, knowing
the elementary, leftover bit of her
mind would dimly recognize it was me
carrying her to where she was going.
-- Jack Gilbert
today, my stepfather would have been 45. though we have learned how to get on without him, we miss him in ways large or small every day, each of us in our own separate fashion. me? I think of him every time I play softball, and feel especially proud when I win the weekly game ball (our MVP prize) -- which I did last week. I don't really believe in heaven, but on days when I have a good game, I hope that he can see me somehow, and know that I am thinking of all the summer afternoons spent playing catch in the front yard.
happy birthday, steve. we miss you.
For eleven years I have regretted it,
regretted that I did not do what
I wanted to do as I sat there those
four hours watching her die. I wanted
to crawl in among the machinery
and hold her in my arms, knowing
the elementary, leftover bit of her
mind would dimly recognize it was me
carrying her to where she was going.
-- Jack Gilbert
today, my stepfather would have been 45. though we have learned how to get on without him, we miss him in ways large or small every day, each of us in our own separate fashion. me? I think of him every time I play softball, and feel especially proud when I win the weekly game ball (our MVP prize) -- which I did last week. I don't really believe in heaven, but on days when I have a good game, I hope that he can see me somehow, and know that I am thinking of all the summer afternoons spent playing catch in the front yard.
happy birthday, steve. we miss you.
July 20, 2010
evidence
hay-related bruise, day 5. it still hurts to walk.
current state of the apartment (as of last night):
(bedroom)
(hallway)
(kitchen)
(living room, from kitchen)
(living room)
now do you see why I feel like a raving lunatic?
July 18, 2010
impaled
current number of large bruises on my body (unofficial tally): 11
on thursday, while doing my routine feeding, I had to retrieve a bale of alfalfa hay from the top of our haystack, six bales high. this happens sometimes. the way you do it is you find something tall to stand on, you grab the hay hooks, and you tip the stack over (sideways, NOT TOWARD YOU). all six bales fall to the ground. I've never found a better way. those bales weigh nearly a hundred pounds each; you can't just lift them and bring them down.
I have mentioned here before how dangerous hay can be. what happened on thursday: I went through the above manuever, choosing for my 'tall thing to stand on' the rear bed of the bobcat we use to haul hay, because it's significantly more sturdy than a ladder, and less likely to topple. I backed the bobcat just in front of the hay column and then braced myself to yank the bales down. after that, maybe because I was trying to slow their fall (and therefore not break the wood pallet on the ground below), my hand got stuck in the hay hook I was using, and the column of hay pulled me helplessly down with it, impaling me by the breastbone on the back corner of the bobcat's tailgate. I would have gone headfirst into the ground had the tailgate not caught on my shirt and bra, leaving me literally hanging upside down by my clothes two feet from the ground, my arm still attached to the hay.
I sat up in a daze, in that aftershock haze where you are just barely keeping yourself from screaming out loud or sobbing. I sat on my knees in the bed of the bobcat, my breath coming in shaky heaves, and took a tally of what hurt. I looked down at my shirt: no spewing blood. no obvious broken ribs. then I looked inside at what was burning: an 18-inch long gash running, like a seatbelt, from the top of my right boob to the middle of my abdomen. it was bleeding lightly into my sports bra and was already bruised in one place. my leg was also in a lot of pain, and had already lumped up, though I was not, at least, bleeding through my breeches.
I must have sat in the back of the bobcat for five minutes, just trying to pull myself together. I hurt like hell. my hands were visibly shaking. it was an accident I don't know that I could have prevented, because I never saw it coming. I suppose that's how accidents go.
I hadn't actually fed yet, so I had to go and throw hay into stalls, hoping not to plaster too much of it onto my open and vaguely bleeding chest wound. I took off my sports bra in the bathroom (OUCH) and then realized how much it hurt just to have my shirt touch my chest. putting my seat belt on was excruciating.
on friday I had to work from home because it was painful to wear anything but the baggiest shirt; there was no way on earth I could put on a bra. (I still haven't). today, the bruise on my thigh is larger than a grapefruit, still swollen, and a range of colors from yellow to nearly black. I actually haven't the faintest idea what I did to my leg -- I guess I hit the bobcat first with my thigh before impaling myself on the tailgate? the leg bruise is in many ways worse than the chest wound; it's much deeper and still painful to walk on. the chest wound has scabbed up and is, at least, less raw than it was on friday. the trade-off is that it's turned into the most unbelievable bruise, yellowish-green, covering half of my right boob. I wish I could show it off but for obvious reasons, I can't.
if I showed up to the beach in a bikini now, it'd look like I'd been mauled by a small bear.
moral of the story: you can never be too careful with hay bales. take my word for it, kids.
on thursday, while doing my routine feeding, I had to retrieve a bale of alfalfa hay from the top of our haystack, six bales high. this happens sometimes. the way you do it is you find something tall to stand on, you grab the hay hooks, and you tip the stack over (sideways, NOT TOWARD YOU). all six bales fall to the ground. I've never found a better way. those bales weigh nearly a hundred pounds each; you can't just lift them and bring them down.
I have mentioned here before how dangerous hay can be. what happened on thursday: I went through the above manuever, choosing for my 'tall thing to stand on' the rear bed of the bobcat we use to haul hay, because it's significantly more sturdy than a ladder, and less likely to topple. I backed the bobcat just in front of the hay column and then braced myself to yank the bales down. after that, maybe because I was trying to slow their fall (and therefore not break the wood pallet on the ground below), my hand got stuck in the hay hook I was using, and the column of hay pulled me helplessly down with it, impaling me by the breastbone on the back corner of the bobcat's tailgate. I would have gone headfirst into the ground had the tailgate not caught on my shirt and bra, leaving me literally hanging upside down by my clothes two feet from the ground, my arm still attached to the hay.
I sat up in a daze, in that aftershock haze where you are just barely keeping yourself from screaming out loud or sobbing. I sat on my knees in the bed of the bobcat, my breath coming in shaky heaves, and took a tally of what hurt. I looked down at my shirt: no spewing blood. no obvious broken ribs. then I looked inside at what was burning: an 18-inch long gash running, like a seatbelt, from the top of my right boob to the middle of my abdomen. it was bleeding lightly into my sports bra and was already bruised in one place. my leg was also in a lot of pain, and had already lumped up, though I was not, at least, bleeding through my breeches.
I must have sat in the back of the bobcat for five minutes, just trying to pull myself together. I hurt like hell. my hands were visibly shaking. it was an accident I don't know that I could have prevented, because I never saw it coming. I suppose that's how accidents go.
I hadn't actually fed yet, so I had to go and throw hay into stalls, hoping not to plaster too much of it onto my open and vaguely bleeding chest wound. I took off my sports bra in the bathroom (OUCH) and then realized how much it hurt just to have my shirt touch my chest. putting my seat belt on was excruciating.
on friday I had to work from home because it was painful to wear anything but the baggiest shirt; there was no way on earth I could put on a bra. (I still haven't). today, the bruise on my thigh is larger than a grapefruit, still swollen, and a range of colors from yellow to nearly black. I actually haven't the faintest idea what I did to my leg -- I guess I hit the bobcat first with my thigh before impaling myself on the tailgate? the leg bruise is in many ways worse than the chest wound; it's much deeper and still painful to walk on. the chest wound has scabbed up and is, at least, less raw than it was on friday. the trade-off is that it's turned into the most unbelievable bruise, yellowish-green, covering half of my right boob. I wish I could show it off but for obvious reasons, I can't.
if I showed up to the beach in a bikini now, it'd look like I'd been mauled by a small bear.
moral of the story: you can never be too careful with hay bales. take my word for it, kids.
July 3, 2010
small victories
- finally fixed my laptop, whose internal fan has been running constantly -- for no reason -- for almost two weeks.
- updated my address with various insurance agencies, subscription services, doctor's offices, and banks
- rode my horse for the first time in two weeks. I thought she was going to be unmanageable, but she was a sweetheart. she didn't give me any trouble (except one little buck which was kind of my fault) and moved like a total dream. my instructor said, "some days she looks like a $5,000 horse, and then there are days like today when she looks like a $20,000 horse."
- broke the psychological barrier and packed some boxes. I got my keys to the new place last night, and moved a tiny carload over today. threw open all the windows, plugged in an air freshener, and stood in the living room scratching my head, trying to decide on the future configuration of my furniture.
- sell a bunch of said furniture
- take a bunch of stuff to Goodwill
- pack my entire kitchen
- ride my horse again! twice in two days!
- heal from my random, softball-induced injuries (hip flexor, foot)
- get to the other side of this mountain of stress, already
June 29, 2010
walking the wire
It's a strange time lately. I believed the end of the opera season would bring some much needed quiet and rest, but it's six weeks after the close of our last show and everything is as hectic as ever. There are a thousand reasons for this; here is a glimpse:
- softball
- horseback riding
- stall cleaning
- feeding horses
- apartment hunting
- packing
- or at least thinking about packing
- training for a marathon -- or at the very least, running
- work projects
- finally enjoying the nice weather
- tending daily to the garden
(I went to the garden this morning to plant a bunch of starts I bought last night. It was nice to begin my day there, in the early morning light; everything was quiet except for the rush of water through the hose. Now in the garden: radicchio, mesclun, radishes, basil, lavender, rosemary, fennel (2 types), catnip, sage, chives, cilantro, broccoli, cauliflower, brussels sprouts, cabbage, kale, butter lettuce, chard, bell peppers, tomatoes, watermelon, canteloupe, lemon cucumber.)
So here is my problem: I am totally overwhelmed by the amount of things I have to do on a daily basis, although nearly everything is exciting and good. It's a real conundrum. I would not want to give any of these things up, and in fact, would find it difficult -- each of them is a commitment I've made. I keep having the feeling that if only I could catch up, everything would settle back and I would be okay. I'm happy now -- sometimes radiantly so -- but also struggling.
Oh, blog. There is one more thing for that list. I've been coyly keeping it a secret from you, but I can't keep it forever.
- boyfriend
June 21, 2010
rodeo clown
the barn's annual horse show was this weekend. it was a great turnout -- we had over 100 people come to ride -- but it was a little disappointing otherwise, for most of us. for me: Cookie was very well behaved for the first half of my classes (the walk/trot classes), keeping herself in a pretty frame, steering well, standing (mostly) still while we waited during the breaks. but once we rode in our first canter class, she totally melted down, and I'm still not entirely sure what happened. the first time I asked for the canter, it was as if I had floored it, which was not surprising; she always wants to run and run and run. she picked up the canter incorrectly, "cross-firing," which is what we call it when a horse picks up the lead correctly in the front and incorrectly in the hind end. after that she was very difficult to collect, and each time I cued the canter it was as if a gun was going off. I sincerely could not tell if she was acting up because she was desperate to run, or because she was being naughty, or because she was tired, or because she was sore. after we went bucking down the rail in our equitation class, I hopped off of her to check my saddle and her legs, but nothing seemed particularly out of place. I had one more class to ride, and I hoped to end on a decent note. she had enough time to cool down beforehand, so the first part of the class went okay -- she managed to keep the walk (rather than bursting again and again into trot) and even picked up her canter without too much explosiveness. but in the reverse direction, I again went bucking down the rail. I heard the spectators in the bleachers gasp.
we won two ribbons in our halter classes -- a very exciting first place finish in the mare class (against a large number of horses), and a third place in the saddle type class. but no ribbons in the riding classes. it was no surprise during our meltdown classes, but I felt sincerely that I could not have ridden better in our first five or six classes, which was simultaneously frustrating and comforting. later on I found out that many competitors at the show were complaining about the inconsistency of the judge, and several people at different points throughout the day came up to compliment us on our riding; one person told me, "we thought you were going to win the class, and then you didn't even place!" the ribbons were not what I was there for (mostly), but given that my mare had such a breakdown, it would have been nice to have already walked away with a little something.
it was a typically exhausting horse show day -- I awoke at 5 to arrive at the show barn by 6, where I lunged and then rode Cookie in the arena prior to the main crowd's arrival; then I rode for five hours, untacked, repacked my car, and spent the rest of the afternoon watching the western classes. our kids didn't do as well as they usually do; the judge didn't seem to like any of us.
that mare sure is cute, though.
pay no attention to my chair seat. I could seriously use a saddle that fits us both better. I can't get my legs any farther underneath me in that thing.
now it is june 21. I have 19 days to find a new place to live. there's nothing more to say about my mental state than that.
June 18, 2010
growth
the last of the plants that have been kicking around the house are now in the ground at my garden. the current tally stands thusly: radicchio, mesclun, radishes; early girl tomatoes (my favorite), cherry tomatoes; sage, cilantro, chives, thyme, lavender, rosemary, basil; watermelon, canteloupe; lemon cucumbers. the plot is hardly 1/3 full.
I love it over there. the neighborhood is quiet; kids play basketball in the street. a few doors down, a mother calls out, "ashley! dinner!" when garden-neighbors come in through the gate, we water our plots quietly and nod hello. it feels like something out of a remote childhood. on sunday, the ice cream truck drove slowly by; I heard a boy of approximately nine or ten yell in that almost panicked way, "ICE CREAM TRUCK!!!! ICE CREAM TRUCK!!! GET YOUR MONEY!" followed by a flurry of activity. I very nearly got some ice cream myself.
tomorrow is the barn-run horse show. tonight I am headed down there to feed and clean stalls (thankfully with all the horses gone); I have to grab my tack and all my tools, and clean them up, and get snacks, and double-check my show clothes, and then head to the show grounds. I had a very good but very late night last night, and I'm running on maybe 2 hours of sleep. at this point my body is being fueled by sheer stubbornness. tomorrow I'll wake up at 5 and get to the arena by 6 to lunge Cookie, and shine her up, and put her in her show halter for the opening halter classes. I'd like to come home with one riding ribbon. otherwise, the joy in being there is feeling like a part of the barn family.
I love it over there. the neighborhood is quiet; kids play basketball in the street. a few doors down, a mother calls out, "ashley! dinner!" when garden-neighbors come in through the gate, we water our plots quietly and nod hello. it feels like something out of a remote childhood. on sunday, the ice cream truck drove slowly by; I heard a boy of approximately nine or ten yell in that almost panicked way, "ICE CREAM TRUCK!!!! ICE CREAM TRUCK!!! GET YOUR MONEY!" followed by a flurry of activity. I very nearly got some ice cream myself.
tomorrow is the barn-run horse show. tonight I am headed down there to feed and clean stalls (thankfully with all the horses gone); I have to grab my tack and all my tools, and clean them up, and get snacks, and double-check my show clothes, and then head to the show grounds. I had a very good but very late night last night, and I'm running on maybe 2 hours of sleep. at this point my body is being fueled by sheer stubbornness. tomorrow I'll wake up at 5 and get to the arena by 6 to lunge Cookie, and shine her up, and put her in her show halter for the opening halter classes. I'd like to come home with one riding ribbon. otherwise, the joy in being there is feeling like a part of the barn family.
June 14, 2010
addendum
step 20: be so sore the next morning from 3 1/2 hours bent over in the garden, you have to walk like an old lady.
June 13, 2010
gardening 101
step 1: survey your domain.
step 2: apply sunscreen to face, arms, neck. attempt to reach middle of back; find all contortion efforts unsuccessful. settle on covering only reachable parts.
step 3: admire neighbor gardens.
step 4: pick up $2 spade; get working. turn dirt lovingly. pull out little stones, occasional weeds.
step 5: get legs real dirty.
step 6: get back to tilling. wipe brow. feel sunburned.
step 7: kick off shoes.
step 8: meet your neighbor, Warren. feel slightly naked in your skimpy tank top and shorts, since he's clad in a sweatshirt and jeans. feel like a hippie when he glances at your bare feet, which are buried in dirt.
step 9: become embarrassed when your cell phone goes off, because the ringer is all the way up and it's your mother; her ringtone is the theme song from The Price is Right.
step 9A: internally apologize to Warren.
step 10: realize you've been working on your garden for nearly an hour and you're less than a third of the way done. abandon loving, careful tilling of soil in favor of strenuous hoeing; begin using feet to mix up dry dirt clods.
step 11: wonder if that sunscreen is working.
step 12: admire your work so far.
step 13: try to ignore back pain.
step 14: finish turning bed with an exhausted flourish. flop down on the grass. call your mother.
step 15: realize you have no idea how to organize your garden. take a stroll past the neighbors' gardens for inspiration.
step 15A:copy become inspired.
step 16: become exasperated with how long you've been working; finally plant your first plant.
step 16A: plant subsequent plants. suspect they look inadequate. wonder silently if you should have thought more about spring plants versus summer plants.
step 17: try not to compare your greens
to your neighbors' greens.
step 18: realize you've hit the level beyond ravenously hungry and may have moved on to hypoglycemic; plant the other plants in a hurry.
step 19: eat a burger, fries, and a milkshake. feel sore. examine sunburn. wince at sunburn. take luxurious shower. feel hungry again. eat toast, fall asleep on the couch with the cat.
in other news, Cookie nearly made me eat the dirt today. the barn owner let two of the mares out to graze in the front pasture, and they ran up to the back arena gate, startling the crap out of both of us. for probably two straight minutes Cookie pranced, jigged, and spun; she wouldn't stand still and had pretty much forgotten about me altogether. it was like riding a tightly coiled spring. I couldn't dismount without fearing she'd bolt and take me with her. I'm pretty sure I had a look of holy terror on my face as I tried to calm her down, keep her from exploding, figure out what to do, and stay on.
I had to negotiate with her for about ten minutes. TEN. MINUTES. and then, slowly but surely, I got her brain back. we rode for over an hour. I did not dismount -- voluntarily or involuntarily. by the end of the ride she was ignoring the mares. I consider the whole episode a major success.
step 2: apply sunscreen to face, arms, neck. attempt to reach middle of back; find all contortion efforts unsuccessful. settle on covering only reachable parts.
step 3: admire neighbor gardens.
step 4: pick up $2 spade; get working. turn dirt lovingly. pull out little stones, occasional weeds.
step 5: get legs real dirty.
step 6: get back to tilling. wipe brow. feel sunburned.
step 7: kick off shoes.
step 8: meet your neighbor, Warren. feel slightly naked in your skimpy tank top and shorts, since he's clad in a sweatshirt and jeans. feel like a hippie when he glances at your bare feet, which are buried in dirt.
step 9: become embarrassed when your cell phone goes off, because the ringer is all the way up and it's your mother; her ringtone is the theme song from The Price is Right.
step 9A: internally apologize to Warren.
step 10: realize you've been working on your garden for nearly an hour and you're less than a third of the way done. abandon loving, careful tilling of soil in favor of strenuous hoeing; begin using feet to mix up dry dirt clods.
step 11: wonder if that sunscreen is working.
step 12: admire your work so far.
step 13: try to ignore back pain.
step 14: finish turning bed with an exhausted flourish. flop down on the grass. call your mother.
step 15: realize you have no idea how to organize your garden. take a stroll past the neighbors' gardens for inspiration.
step 15A:
step 16: become exasperated with how long you've been working; finally plant your first plant.
step 16A: plant subsequent plants. suspect they look inadequate. wonder silently if you should have thought more about spring plants versus summer plants.
step 17: try not to compare your greens
to your neighbors' greens.
step 18: realize you've hit the level beyond ravenously hungry and may have moved on to hypoglycemic; plant the other plants in a hurry.
step 19: eat a burger, fries, and a milkshake. feel sore. examine sunburn. wince at sunburn. take luxurious shower. feel hungry again. eat toast, fall asleep on the couch with the cat.
in other news, Cookie nearly made me eat the dirt today. the barn owner let two of the mares out to graze in the front pasture, and they ran up to the back arena gate, startling the crap out of both of us. for probably two straight minutes Cookie pranced, jigged, and spun; she wouldn't stand still and had pretty much forgotten about me altogether. it was like riding a tightly coiled spring. I couldn't dismount without fearing she'd bolt and take me with her. I'm pretty sure I had a look of holy terror on my face as I tried to calm her down, keep her from exploding, figure out what to do, and stay on.
I had to negotiate with her for about ten minutes. TEN. MINUTES. and then, slowly but surely, I got her brain back. we rode for over an hour. I did not dismount -- voluntarily or involuntarily. by the end of the ride she was ignoring the mares. I consider the whole episode a major success.
June 11, 2010
I awoke this morning half an hour before my alarm went off, not out of any sort of industriousness or bushy-tailed morning energy but because one of the cats (and I have no doubt which one) knocked something that sounded vaguely glass-like onto the floor. I darted out of bed so fast I was not quite awake yet, to discover both cats looking culpable but no obvious knocked-over thing in sight. I checked the living room and kitchen, the likeliest places, and then poked my head in the (dark) bathroom to check the items on the sink. When I didn't find anything, I went back to bed.
A half hour later I came back out, and when I flipped on the light in the bathroom I realized that they had managed to knock one of our bathroom shelves almost entirely off the wall. What I heard fall were two glass candle holders which luckily didn't break. The shelf won't stay up anymore.
I should also mention that I was already in a bad mood because I woke up with that Train song, "Hey Soul Sister," in my head.
When I went to put everything in my car, I realized I had parked next to a strip of grass that appears to have not been mowed since last summer. It was wet from rain and almost knee high. I was wearing canvas flats.
I got to work and had an email from the Arabian Horse Association, saying that my renewed membership card had been returned to them. "We sent it to the following address, could you please update us?" they said, and then listed my current address, no errors. "It was marked 'vacant return to sender,'" they said. This is the second item of mail in a week to be inappropriately returned to sender. I already hated my mail guy for consistently delivering the wrong mail to my mailbox, and now it's entered a whole new dimension.
An hour into my work day I received a confirmation from my landlord of my intent to vacate my apartment. Out of -- who knows? profound laziness, or maybe an inability to believe I'm moving -- I didn't declare my intent in writing until yesterday, which means my official move out date is July 10. I consoled myself about the extra 10 days' rent by telling myself that I at least have ten extra days to find a place, plus there's the possibility of an overlap of apartments, giving me extra time to move. The emailed confirmation states that NOPE! They seem to believe I owe full rent for July: $1100.
Grandmom, I know you're reading this so please forgive me for a second: They can go fuck themselves. I'm not paying $1100 in rent to live in my apartment for ten days.
It's noon; it was supposed to be sunny today but it's still oppressively overcast, cold, and raining. The office is freezing because they're installing new windows on one side of our building, and it smells like cigarette smoke because the window installers are smoking.
I was going to run on my lunch break but I'm writing this instead because I've decided I refuse to go out there. I'm giving you the stink-eye, Portland: it'll be sunny at 5, right?
tl;dr this is my day. pretty much exactly.
A half hour later I came back out, and when I flipped on the light in the bathroom I realized that they had managed to knock one of our bathroom shelves almost entirely off the wall. What I heard fall were two glass candle holders which luckily didn't break. The shelf won't stay up anymore.
I should also mention that I was already in a bad mood because I woke up with that Train song, "Hey Soul Sister," in my head.
When I went to put everything in my car, I realized I had parked next to a strip of grass that appears to have not been mowed since last summer. It was wet from rain and almost knee high. I was wearing canvas flats.
I got to work and had an email from the Arabian Horse Association, saying that my renewed membership card had been returned to them. "We sent it to the following address, could you please update us?" they said, and then listed my current address, no errors. "It was marked 'vacant return to sender,'" they said. This is the second item of mail in a week to be inappropriately returned to sender. I already hated my mail guy for consistently delivering the wrong mail to my mailbox, and now it's entered a whole new dimension.
An hour into my work day I received a confirmation from my landlord of my intent to vacate my apartment. Out of -- who knows? profound laziness, or maybe an inability to believe I'm moving -- I didn't declare my intent in writing until yesterday, which means my official move out date is July 10. I consoled myself about the extra 10 days' rent by telling myself that I at least have ten extra days to find a place, plus there's the possibility of an overlap of apartments, giving me extra time to move. The emailed confirmation states that NOPE! They seem to believe I owe full rent for July: $1100.
Grandmom, I know you're reading this so please forgive me for a second: They can go fuck themselves. I'm not paying $1100 in rent to live in my apartment for ten days.
It's noon; it was supposed to be sunny today but it's still oppressively overcast, cold, and raining. The office is freezing because they're installing new windows on one side of our building, and it smells like cigarette smoke because the window installers are smoking.
I was going to run on my lunch break but I'm writing this instead because I've decided I refuse to go out there. I'm giving you the stink-eye, Portland: it'll be sunny at 5, right?
tl;dr this is my day. pretty much exactly.
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