I awoke this morning to find my dog nestled comfortably on the edge of my bed. This is not a rare occurrence, as my dog sleeps there every night. As I got out of bed, I noticed that he wasn't giving me his usual enthusiastic greeting that he gives me every morning. Not yet concerned, I called his name, believing him to be simply asleep. He has been sleeping more and more soundly recently--probably due to his old age; he is 12. Even after calling his name, he still did not stir. I was starting to get worried. I walked over to him, and gave him a gentle pet to wake him up. I was immediately horrified by two things: how stiff and life less his body was and the overwhelming stench that surrounded his body.
My poor dog of 12 years, had died. And not only had he died, but he shat himself before he went.
This was going to be a great day.
After briefly grieving--don't get me wrong, I LOVED my dog, but I had a huge presentation at work, so I had to man up and get to work like a man. My real grieving could wait.
I put my dog in a trash bag (classy, I know), put my sheets in the washer, and headed out to work. My great day was just beginning.
I made it into my office and gave my big presentation to all of my various bosses. I thought it went well. After the presentation, which I have been working on for months, my boss called me into his office. I thought it was going to be a "great job" speech, or something of that nature. It was, sort of. My boss told me that my presentation was fantastic and that I had assured my company that my business plan was going to make the company a shit ton of money. Great, I thought, my day was starting to look up.
My boss, then, dropped the bombshell--I was going to be laid off. Effective immediately. It was nothing that I had done, but they wanted to wait until after I had given them my business plan to fire me, so it wouldn't effect my presentation.
Awesome.
After being escorted out the company I have worked for, for 10 years now, I threw up in the parking lot. I wasn't physically sick, just sick of life. At least I had my appointment with my therapist to look forward to; I could vent this shit out.
So, at noon, during what would have been my lunch break, I went to my therapist. I was prepared to blow off some steam. My therapist had other things in mind. I'll spare you guys the details--because that is a whole other story waiting to be told--but I had a major breakthrough, instead of my proposed vent session.
We discovered that my uncle molested me as a child and that I had repressed the memories.
Fantastic.
To put the cherry on the top and to briefly wrap things up (sorry about the length), I decided to surprise my girlfriend at her apartment. Seeing as how I now had this, and every afternoon in the foreseeable future off, it would be a complete, and I thought pleasant, surprise for her.
I keyed myself into her apartment--we've been dating for 3 years and I was thinking about asking her to marry me this summer--and then I heard something, a thumping sound. Initially and woefully unperturbed by this sound I entered her bedroom. And to I'm sure nobody's surprise, she was fucking my best friend. Doggy style. She didn't even see me.
I left, went home, pulled my dead dog out of his trash bag and sat on my sheet less bed petting my dead dog. That's where I've been ever since.
So, I guess, the highlight of my day was finding out that my uncle molested me as a child.
I can't wait for tomorrow.