Quite literally.
On Monday morning, at about 4:30am - after finally dozing off somewhere around 3:30 listening to my nightmarish upstairs neighbors and their dogs run and jump and bark and play drums and smoke and be fucking obnoxious fucking ass holes - I fell out of bed.
Out. Of. Bed.
I fucking fell out of my bed like a toddler sleeping in a big-kid bed for the first time ever, smacking my forehead on the nightstand drawer, which I had lazily left slightly open, landing on my arm, which has now been sore for 48 hours. And this was how I woke up on January 2, 2017.
Great.
After I fell out of bed, I slept for about 30 more minutes before it occurred to me no later than 6:00 in the fucking morning that thanks to the aforementioned ass holes living above me, I wasn't getting any more sleep. So I got up and took my time getting ready for work. (For the record, I have to be at work by 9:00, so I usually get up between 8:00 and 8:40, depending on whether or not it's the one day out of every five to twelve that I commit to actually washing my hair.)
Instead I'm up at 6 fucking o'clock. And you bet your ass I BLASTED Pandora the entire 3 hours. Fuck you, upstairs neighbor. Wake your shit asses up, and enjoy the sweet, sweet sound of Bryce Fox on volume level ear-piercing.
I was then in my office by 8:00 in the morning, I spent the next 8 hours getting bitched at because you know, people are surprised every single month when they have to pay their rent, and somehow the fact that they can't afford their apartment or got in a fight with their roommate or broke up with their boyfriend, is my fault. Well, sure, that does make sense. My bad. I then left work, went to Costco with my mom, where literally everyone on Earth was shopping with their bratty-ass children who were acting like feral cats, and their stupid husbands who were too bored to pay attention to the fact that they were standing in the middle of the aisle with their thumb up their ass, and their dog.
Side note: DON'T TAKE YOUR DOG TO COSTCO YOU STUPID MOTHER-FUCKER!
On Monday, because I didn't get any sleep at all on Sunday night, I came home from Costco, had saltine crackers and peanut butter for dinner. and went to bed.
I'm awesome.
Today I got up at 8:45, because I didn't have to wash my hair, and got to work where I was literally told to fuck myself (side note, YOU fuck YOURSELF, you dumb twat) four times - again because people forget that I am not in charge of managing their finances or their lives or their abilities to be a human. And then I came home and had popcorn for dinner, because I have had such a shit-ass two days at work I don't dare go to the grocery store for anything adults eat for dinner, and am sitting on my couch at 8:00pm, watching a Jim Jeffries comedy special in a fluffy bathrobe, drinking a Corona and considering just going to bed.
Of course I am really busy reading insane messages sent to me by desperately horny, unattractive, possibly-single-but-probably-married, dick-pic-sending, perverted freaks on Plenty of Fish, so I'll probably stay up for a while. These dudes do make me laugh, if nothing else.
In short, 2017 has not made it easy thus far, for me to maintain my resolution of being fucking amazingly positive about all things.
It's not easy to resolve to be positive when people are screaming at you to fuck yourself.
Especially since you're supposedly paid to listen politely as they do so (side note, I will absolutely not be tolerating bull shit behavior from anyone in my life this year, and that does include residents).
It's not easy to resolve to be positive when you're sleep deprived.
it's not easy to be positive when you haven't been to the grocery store like an adult and are now consuming food that is in direct violation of the health and fitness resolutions you made less than 72 hours ago.
It's definitely not easy to resolve to be positive when you fall out of your god damn bed the first morning of the new year!
And so I have adjusted my resolution slightly. I'm an adult, and I can do that.
I have resolved that I will start my new year on Monday, January 9th. Because you know what? Rent week is not a good week in property management. And the rent week following Christmas is quite possibly the WORST week of all time in the entire career of property managers. So I am not going to set myself up to fail, plain and simple. For me, the next six days are still 2016. They don't count. My new year is the property management new year, which officially begins the Sunday evening following the first rent week of the new year.
Beginning on Monday, I will have gone to the grocery store. I will have located and charged my FitBit. I will have bought enough water to stay hydrated. I'll be ready for my exercise, and I'll be ready to not eat M&Ms for lunch as I try to not stab someone who is calling me names because they owe a late fee.
Beginning on Monday, I will have cleaned my apartment and done the dishes, and will have addressed my issues with my upstairs neighbor like a grown up instead of by blaring Pandora in their ears for three hours. I will have updated my address and forwarded my mail and done all my laundry. I will be fully adult on Monday.
I have already resolved that 2017 will be a positive, awesome, fantastic fucking year, where I go after my goals and crush every last one of them. It just so happens, that I know I can't do that, this week. Fuck this week.
Lesson: It doesn't really matter if you fall, as long as you get back up.
2017. I'm still winning. I'm just a week late to the game.
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