I would call this morning a comedy of errors but that would imply that I thought some of it was funny. I’m not laughing. I hate how one fuck up has long-reaching consequences.

So my washing machine broke. I ended up having to bring clothes to a laundromat. I lost a load, apparently. I don’t fucking know how. So I don’t have the blanket for my bed or a few pieces of other random clothes and a bunch of towels. One of the pieces of clothing were my best pair of running pants. By “best pair” I mean the most comfortable. They had many holes in the seems. The only reason they stayed up was because of a sturdy draw string. BUT THEY HAD POCKETS.

So today I need to run eight miles. Noah is having a hard time in a variety of ways so I stayed in bed with him until past my normal running time which means the kids came in with us. One thing lead to another and I wasn’t starting out to run until I had been awake for more than three hours. I haven’t eaten anything. I’m starting to get jittery and psycho.

And the only god damn pair of clean fucking pants are my painting pants. They are yoga pants that are about seven years old, a size too big, and they’ve been through two full pregnancies with me. By the fourth step they are completely down around my hips. By the sixth step they are starting to try to be below my bottom.

And I forgot to charge my phone last night because the kids were on a roll. It was a very long and busy day. So I wasn’t going to be able to listen to any music on this pity party death march. But I brought my phone anyway to see if the mapping program would work. I had to wear the water backpack in order to have a place to carry the phone.

I uhhh apparently didn’t seal the bag properly. So me and my phone got completely soaked within the first block. I walked back to my house threw the bag violently against the house and gently set my phone down on the kitchen counter to try again. I got a mile before I sat down on a neighbors driveway to cry. No. I can’t run like this.

My phone is becoming a frequent problem on runs. The battery won’t last through a four hour run. It goes completely dead just after three hours. Not to mention that my Android phone has decided it no longer needs to load Google mail or Google talk.

All of these are stupid, small problems that can be solved with a little bit of time and/or money. Neither of which I have before going running this morning. So I’m not going running this morning. Hopefully I will find time later today to run. I am not up for this fucking death march of sobbing this morning. God damn ridiculous. With pants that won’t fucking stay up. I’m about to just start running in jeans. At least they fucking fit.

My penultimate pair of running shoes (I had to replace the Stem’s. Apparently that company changed names. I don’t like them as much now) were a switch from the strictly “running” Vibrams to “multi-sport” because they were $40 less. They tore my feet to shreds. I have horrible burst open blisters and these deep weirdly ridged callouses. After two weeks.

Running is getting harder and harder. 45 days. I’m not very good at shoving myself out of bed in the still-dark to go run in the mornings. I feel bitter and angry and pissy. I want to hit things and scream. I don’t. fucking. want. to. But Noah’s work schedule has been harder lately. And when push comes to shove I have to be the flexible one. Which means I have to god damn suck it up and I should probably be out running at 5:30 so that I get it done before I am shaking with hunger and hating everyone in the whole fucking world.

I feel really resentful right now. I was supposed to have till the youngest kid was three. Well, fuck me. That was too long to ask for.

I’m grateful someone asked me if she could take my kids to the zoo today. Yes. Yes. Yes. I need a fucking break. I need to do laundry. And clean the disgusting bathroom. And cry without having to be polite about it.

Fuck everything.