Blame it on the Hangi

I am having a perfectly vile day. Here is how it unfolds -
First I have a stress tiff with Sweet Hubby because he's been a little remote lately. His response is he's a little grumpy due to lack of sleep caused by his wife who frets (actively and loudly) while having nightmares. This is somewhat unexpected news. I didn't know I was having nightmares again until he said so. I'd really like to blame it on the Maori Hangi because it's an awfully odd dish - but I can't, because a) I liked it and it wasn't as odd as the pistachio-encrusted, sweet potato cake thingie in the second course (ahhh! Don't you just love parties at bistros?) and b) I have the same nightmares every time I start churning about the same couple of things. And a-churning I have been.

The vileness got viler when I was trying to figure out how to talk to my VBGF (=Very Best Girlfriend) about how remote she's been - when, what do I get? An email from my VBGF needing to share her feelings about the last couple of days.
Eeep. She's right! S.H. is right! Here I am all sad at their remoteness and feeling all alone in my churniness - and what have I done but churned and pushed at them in weird ways. What am I, fourteen again??

Then while I'm trying to respond by phone and email - the puppy goes NUTS. Not barking - but whining and running back and forth to windows and then running down the hall. While following him down the hall, I hear a loud, glassy, startling smack back in the office. Puppy and I go racing back. Nothing. Maybe a bird flew into the window - it was that kind of short, thuddy sound. I close the door to my office in an effort to curtail the dog's wandering and get some more writing in - but he will NOT settle. Feeling frustrated and stompy - I scoop up the dog and carry him toward the laundry room (i.e. puppy time out) at the other end of the house until he scrambles out of my arms (almost spilling my coke cup in the hall.) I chase him down only to have the holy bejeezus scared out of me when there is another such glassy thud at the sliding door two feet away from me. There stands a large lurky man dressed in dark blue (and a Dallas Cowboys** ball cap) motioning for me to open the door. I just barely manage NOT to throw my glass through the door at him - but then I have to wipe up the all coke I spill on the floor from so forcefully NOT throwing my glass at him and by then my hands are shaking and I am quite discombombulated. Scary man (in a Dallas Cowboys cap - **I HATE, LOATHE, and DESPISE** the Dallas Cowboys) tries to smile reassuringly at me and explains loudly that he's from the power company and he's here to check on the power outages we had complained about. He wants to know if he could turn off the power. I explain to him (still not opening the door) that I need to go save everything on my computer - could he give me a few. Yes of course - he'd give me five minutes.
Then the phone rings (you know, the only phone we have - the cordless - electricity powered phone - you see where this is going?) The dog is still going apeshit - barking at the power guy - barking at the phone - tripping me. The phone call turns out to be the gal who was supposed to work for me today saying her grandmother had died and she wouldn't be able to *click*....
How is my seven year old birthday boy going to feel when his mom doesn't show up for lunch at school like she promised?
Then just to make sure things were really, really, really vile...
The power guy wants to show me something. See here where all the wires are burnt up - yes sirree - you're lucky your house didn't catch on fire - that's what's causing your outages - you better call an electrician right away!
I think my bursting into tears startled him.
By 9:30 am, my day is already full to overflowing with hauntings of old trauma, remotenss by the two I love most, the bad mommy-ness of failing to show for my birthday boy's lunch, the adrenalin of an unexpected, scary man at the door, the threat of my children burning in their beds, and the impossibility of stretching the budget to cover Christmas AND an emergency electrician. I try pulling myself together - but I'm not sure I'm convincing. The power guy turns my electricity back on and backs away assuring me he hadn't meant my house would catch on fire TODAY, necessarily....
The returned-to-life phone rings. It is my 13 year old calling from the school office. His morose 13 year old voice says, "Hi mom. Mr. Moore wants to tell you something." I find out my son is being "written up" again for not having his gym clothes again.
Again? Again? When has he been written up before? When has he not had his gym clothes?!!
Oh, the bad mommy-ness of not only failing to ensure that all morose middle schoolers in the household are provided with appropriate jock attire and forced to port said attire actually all the way to school - but of not even knowing the lack of jock attire has gotten to the repeating stage!!!

I am having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. According to Judith Viorst's Alexander , some days are like that. Even in Australia.
Must be the proximity to the Hangi.