“Just a Normal Monday Morning” or “Origin Story of Beekiller the Mighty”

My Day So Far:

Wake up. 2am-ish. Husband was rolling around, something about shoulder pain. Make coo-ing reassuring sounds. Tell him next time he should skip arm day. Try to stay awake in a dream-like state. Fall dead asleep.

Wake up. This time the sun is up. Fifteen minutes before my alarm. Get up, bathroom time, go straight to the computer like a boss. Jot down rough drafts for three new articles. Bemoan about the fact that I didn’t write yesterday and broke my chain. Write entire article about it.

Toddler-girl wakes up. Needs to go potty. Bribe with a cookie to get her to go on the pot. Feel like an awful parent. Let the dog out. Yell at him for trying to poop right off the patio when he has the whole freakin’ yard to go in. Duck as a hummingbird swoops over me to get to the feeder. Get toddler-girl some waffles.

8am. Get husband up for work. Pack lunch, car keys, kiss at the door. Feed dog. He drools before he eats. I make fun of him, our normal relationship. He takes it like a man, despite the fact that he’s wearing an extremely girly turquoise collar. It’s a good thing he’s colorblind, or whatever dogs see. Determine I’m not a dogologist.

Back to writing. Work on some more articles. Get bored, get iPod, stalk kitchen for food. Off brand Flake cereal is on the menu. Delicious. Read other blogs as I eat. Praise and curse my comparative skill level.

Hear a loud buzzing sound. Look over to see Dog at the window, looking for something. Find a bee in the window. Throw Dog to the backyward, herd Toddler-girl into living room. Panic. Look for a weapon. Find flyswatter. Question whether a flyswatter is a high enough level weapon against a bee. More panic. More buzzing. Bee thinks it can fly through glass. I wish I could open windows using telekinesis. Try and fail. Even more panic. Toddler-girl reassures me, “Buzzy Bee won’t sting.” Long for the innocence of youth. Throw flyswatter down and grab a can of bug spray. Ten more minutes of panic. Finally, the perfect moment. Spray the sucker until he dies. Delight in the fact that humans have created such a thing. Watch Buzzy Bee’s death throes. Question my moral existence. Put a paper towel over the corpse for husband when he gets home. Google whether bees can sting after they’re dead.

Back to writing. Decided previous written article is crap. Delete and write this. Look at my to-do list for the day. Add “Become a bee killer” to list and cross it off. Feel accomplished. Random thought of how bee got into the house in the first place. Panic.

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