When I first got a smartphone and started downloading apps, it didn’t take me long to find a Doctor Who soundboard/ringtone collection. As a fan of the show, this made me quite giddy, and I started to tweak my phone to accept certain sayings or songs for alerts, identifications, and whatnot. Much to my wife’s annoyance, notifications from her are made aware to my by River Song crooning “Hello Sweetie….”
The app contains sound bytes from the original show as well, before its reboot with Eccleston. (whom I liked more than Tennant, sue me for it) In the collection I found the most absolutely perfect notification for my calendar alerts.
“No. Impossible. I’m fully booked for the next two centuries.”
When I managed to find a way to use it with the calendar, I felt like I had won everything. Sure, it gets a bit irritating to hear it six or seven times a day, but there was never a better application/process match in the entire history of smartphones.
Last night was a brutal one. I was on call with the ambulance again, so even when I was asleep, part of my brain was listening for the pager all night. That, and Mini-Me is up to his old tricks again of finding the most god-awful hours of the night to wake up. He’s got teeth coming in again, so in his defense, he’s not simply being a tiny little jerk- he’s as miserable as I am when he wakes up.
1:30 this morning was the wakeup. I went in with him, and for three hours, he either wiggled and kicked me as he lay on my chest, or whimpered and cried when I laid him back in his crib. Somewhere around 5am we both managed to fall asleep on the futon again for a while. I briefly thought about my work day, and figured I’d go in a little late this morning after catching up on a little bit of rest. Not a real problem at all. The client and my boss are amazingly flexible, and I could basically make my own hours as long as I provide ample coverage for the week. So, off we go, back to slumber-land.
“No, Impossible. I’m fully booked for the next two centuries.”
Glance at clock. 7:30am. Fumble around for phone on the night stand, intent on smashing the cursed thing to smithereens for its daring to interrupt my plans. Find phone. Open calendar. There’s nothing that I have to do……oh. Crap.
Two weeks ago the business office (at a school, that means the people that RUN the place) had asked me to make sure I was here to set up a State Retirement Representative with the rights and accesses they needed for their presentations. I remember waving a dismissing hand and giving them the old “That won’t be a problem, I’m here anyway, don’t worry about a thing.”
Appointment set for 8am.
“Balderdash!” Cried I, (Sort of. Actual wording edited for content) and Mini-Me looked up from my chest with sleepy eyes in an effort to find out what all the commotion was about.
I rose from the bed in such a manner as to make the guy from the ” ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas” poem look like he was in a coma, and brought Mini-Me into the living room where my wife and The Narrator were snuggled on the couch in that peaceful few moments of the morning before the boys get their legs under them and all hell breaks loose. I quickly explained my predicament, handed the groggy (and possibly wet) Mini-Me to his mother, and hauled on clothes that I’m pretty sure are clean, and made it out the door and into the car within ten minutes of opening my eyes.
As soon as I hit cell service, I called the school to tell them I’d be a little bit late.
“Oh, that’s okay. The rep isn’t coming until 10:30.”
So here I am, I was late for being early, but too early to be late for work. I skipped coffee, breakfast, and possibly clean pants to get out the door and end up being two whole hours ahead of where I thought I was supposed to be.
As my father used to say… “Sometimes you eat the bear, and sometimes the bear eats you.”
The bear got me this morning.