I mean, probably not, for sure. It is nearly impossible that I am a god.

Which reminds me of my friend at work who retired recently. We sat in cubicles next to each other for 7 years. I love her. And she left me. I’m not coping with her retirement extremely well. But you know, I am happy for her. Mostly.

But I digress.

So, one day, after having solved a difficult programming issue, I stood up from my desk and raised my fists over my head.

Me: I am like a god.

Work friend: You work in a cubicle.

Me: So?

WF: A cockroach ran across your desk last week.

Me: I’m a lesser god.

But this isn’t about that, so I am digressing again. I guess it’s a digressing sort of morning.

So, I might be a deity because there are constellations on my bathroom ceiling.

I think I might have a little universe existing in my bathroom.

Let me explain.

I took Friday off because I could. I’m finding it harder and harder to find my motivation to sit in a cubicle all day long. I think my motivation must be chained to a rock somewhere.

I spent my long weekend deep cleaning my house. I found it terribly satisfying. My back, which betrays me, didn’t like the work and, therefore, I am doing very little today. Watching TV. Puttering. Nothing too strenuous.

I decided to take a long, hot bath to appease the gods of old lady backaches in my nice clean tub that had been detailed the day before.

I got the Epsom salts and fancy seaweed bath stuff and made the water as hot as I can stand it.

I got in my tub and stared at the ceiling.

Holy shit, y’all. The ceiling looks bad.

If turning over and staring at the bottom of my nice clean tub was an option, I would have done that. But I don’t have gills and I can’t hold my breath for very long.

The ventilation in our bathroom is terrible. There is a fan, but I don’t think it ventilates anything. I think the fan just makes fan noises.

So, the ceiling gets mold on it.

I try to keep on top of it, but I have to drag in the stepladder, find the goddamn Magic Erasers which are never where I think they are, and erase the mold. Ceiling cleaning always gets away from me and I end up repainting.

It is way past time for that.

It occurred to me how some of the mold seemed to be in very specific patterns. And how they look like constellations. Moldy little constellations in a Moldyverse. On my ceiling.

I laid there in my tub, covered in salty, seaweed water and realized I was the god staring upon the moldyverse. I could leave them be, clean them up, paint, or erase them completely.

I decided that before I obliterate the moldyverse, I should at least name the constellations.

There’s not a lot of light pollution in my bathroom, so they’re super visible.

Moldona Sporealis The crowning glory of the mold constellation. It is so pervasive and intricate that it can only be one of many. Moldona Sporealis is one layer in a multimoldyverse.

Messiopea Would love to have a nice, clean house, but cannot because her will to clean was left chained to a rock with no hope of rescue.

The Little Blob Is a dog wearing a skirt and standing on its hind legs with its mouth wide open. A treat is flying into it’s opened mouth. I think it’s a male dog. I have no idea why. 

The Big Blob is a young girl with pigtails sliding across the moldyverse, smearing something behind her. Dirt? Shit? No idea. Something mold colored. She is also tossing the dog treat into the Little Blob’s mouth.

Orion’s Fungus Orion prefers to not focus on his fungus. He’d prefer we all focus on his belt.

Dog Breath Major follows Orion’s fungus in the hopes of eating fungus.

Dog Breath Minor follows Dog Breath Major in the hopes of eating leftover fungus or maybe vomit.

The Sea of Futility lives above the bathtub and shower and is a series of small cracks in the paint. The Sea of Futility pisses me off. The last time I painted it, I used oil based Kilz. It shouldn’t crack. I should be able to clean it up easier. But noooo…now I have to paint my bathroom ceiling. Again. The third time in four years. Maybe if I sacrifice a goat or something?

So, long story short. I had a great 3 days off from work.

My baseboards sparkle and my bathroom ceiling is disgusting.

Is there a magic paint? Is there? Because I need one. I’m ready to be the destroyer of the Moldyverse.

Don’t worry though, there are tons of versions of me in the Multimoldyverse who have no intent to destroy Moldyverses, so they do live on. Somewhere. Where I’m even worse at housecleaning that I am in this universe.

Photo courtesy of Suzy Hazelwood

I have a lot of “Last Time” anxiety.

What will be the last song I hear? What will be the last voice I hear? What will be the last food I eat?

That last one.

Fuck.

Seriously, if the last thing I drink and eat is gas station coffee and a stale donut, I am coming back and haunting everyone forever because I am going to be pissed the fuck off.

Randy and I spend a lot of time watching food videos on Youtube. From Sean Evans on Hot Ones to random recipes.

I can’t control much, probably very little. But something I can do? I can make baked apple slices that will make your tongue hard. I can follow a recipe and very nearly always make it come out amazing. I mean, other than the hundred dollar cake.

I just want the last thing I eat to be satisfying.

I want to swallow and think “that was everything I needed it to be.”

That’s what she said. 

The last song I want to hear? It has to be Walking On Sunshine by Katrina and the Waves.

The last voice I hear?

I could lie and say the last voice I want to hear is Randy’s. Please don’t get me wrong, I love his voice. I am grateful for every moment we have together, but the last voice I want to hear?

I want to hear my mother say “You’re the tops. You’re the Mona Lisa”

When she says that to me, it means everything. I’m the tops. I am the goddamn Mona Lisa. Because until I die, her voice is the one that settles my brain.

Also, she’d probably be happy with that gas station donut.

My mother is a goddamn freak for donuts. In fact, I have implicit instructions.

If she is terminal and still able to eat? I am to supply a dozen glazed donuts to her daily until she can no longer eat.

If I am able, I will honor that request.

Now excuse me, I am going to try to find a way to climb out of this mortality fear pit I’ve been living in for a while.

But I did it.

Yes, it took six decades. I addressed an uncomfortable situation.

I walked right into some shit and I fucking handled that shit. I did. I handled it. I stood up for myself. I even was slightly abrasive.

I mean, in the end, I completely misread the situation, but that’s not the fucking story.

I stood up for myself. After living most of my life almost never standing up for myself. But last week? I did. On incomplete information.

The story might be me misreading the situation, but whatever.

So, last week at work was kind of stressful.

And there are new people. A lot of new people. Also, they make noise. I do not like noise. I prefer no noise or my noise. My noise is in my headphones and it is not even a little quiet, but I control all the sounds. It’s my noise. I don’t mind my noise. I hate other people’s noise. At the risk of sounding like the Rain Main, might I say that I don’t like noise at work?

Also, if you misspell noise as nose, it’s funny. I don’t like other people’s nose. Which might be true. Maybe, I don’t. But I probably like them more than my nose because my nose is kinda funny looking. 

Anyway, it was a shitty week. On Friday, I walked in to the office at 7 goddamn A.M. because that is when I get to work and two of the new people where already in my room. Until last April, when I got to work in the morning, one of my best friends on the planet would already be there. But she fucking retired. And now there are new people.

I walked in and one of them said “Well shit. And now she’s here.”

Then, they stopped talking and sat down in their respective cubicles.

I laughed a bit and said “Okay, then.”

I sat down and started my morning routine.

And then I got pissed.

Wait? What? What? 

Normally, what I would do in this situation is pretend it didn’t happen and go about my day.

Oh, it would drive me insane and I would think of a million ways to handle it, but I wouldn’t actually do anything.

I stood up, stepped to the right of my cubicle and said “Okay, so the two of you? I’m going to put my headphones on, turn the music up really loud and then you can continue the conversation you were having that is clearly none of my business.”

New person one: Oh, no. I just know you really want the door closed, but I like it open first thing in the morning, because I can hear the printer and know when my invoices are done printing.

Me:…

Me:..

Me: All I heard was “Well shit and now she’s here” and then you both stopped talking.

New Person one: I guess it did sound bad.

New Person two: It did sound kind of bad.

Me: Okay, I don’t mind if the door is open first thing in the morning. But when everyone else gets here, then dear god, it has to close. They’re so fucking loud.

Then, I told them about an article I read about scientist bringing pig cells back to life and everything was okay.

I finally stick up for myself and I was wrong. Kind of.

I mean, I don’t think my reaction was unreasonable.

Also, fuck bringing pig cells back to life.

You don’t open the tomb. You don’t read from the scary book. You don’t say a name three times while looking in a mirror and you don’t bring goddamn pig cells back to life.

This is how we get pig zombies. Do we really need pig zombies right now?

No. No we do not.

I’ll just be here in my goddamn cubicle keeping to myself.

How was your week?