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Well, there is zero chance that this week is getting nominated for "week of the year" or similar honors anytime soon.  In fact, I'm just about to pack it up and write it off.

Monday started with the devastating events at Virginia Tech, which have become only sadder as the reality has sunk in to those who have connections to the University, and the images of a deranged man, who actually took a break in the middle of a killing spree to run an errand to the post office, have pervaded the media.

Tuesday was of course, tax day, a national day of mourning of a different kind.  Tuesday found me at 11:40pm sitting at my kitchen table signing tax forms as I seem to have married the only CPA on the planet with a procrastination streak.  Being married to a CPA also means that we don't eagerly check our mailbox for refunds checks each Spring, rather we get to be the ones writing the check to the IRS which is allegedly a good thing since "they didn't have free use of our money (overpayments)".  Sigh.  After all the tax excitement of the day, by the time my husband returned from the post office at 12:30am, neither of us could sleep so we watched American Idol and House on Tivo.  I still couldn't sleep (pregnancy insomnia) so I took a Tylenol PM around 2:15am thinking I could sleep in until 8:45 the next morning since I was going to work from home.

Wednesday arrived...earlier than expected.   Shortly before 7am, I was startled awake by what sounded like a SWAT team landing on my roof.   It took me a minute to understand that it was instead the roofers who were going to start "any day now" for the last two weeks.  Of course they picked today.  I tried to turn on the fan full blast and bury my head under the pillows, but it was no use; it's surprising hard to ignore 15 men ripping off a roof eight feet from your head.  I had to get up.  I stumbled around under the influence of a sleeping agent and four hour sof sleep, and for a brief moment thought perhaps I looked less like the side of a barn that day and more like the side of the bus.  I raced to the scale to record what could possibly be a weight dip which would boost my spirits, when the scale meekly responded "lo".  It didn't even have the strength to add the "w" to "low" (batteries) message and then refused to turn on again.

Nervously eyeing the workers through my skylights directly above where my son plays all day, I sent my son and nanny away for the day to friends.  The relentless noise of roofing echoed throughout the house piercing my aching brain.  I retreated to the basement to prepare for a board meeting the next day.  I drank coffee and stared at my computer.  I had complex scenarios to run for the board and my neurons refused to fire.  It was like when the BBQ grills runs out of propane and you continue to try to get it to ignite.  Click. Click, Click.  Nothing. Click.  Nothing.  I messaged a coworker telling them I was in a bad state and how can I calculate these numbers I need based on these multiple factors.  He responded with something about using "differential equations" to get the figures, but then pretended to be unavailable for further consultation.    I had suffered through hours of tedious work when I heard a crash.   As I ventured upstairs, I found my family room covered in 50lbs of glass with nails and other debris falling in through where the skylights used to be.    There were no bodies and I was too tired to react and wearily waved the crews in to try to clean up.   Later I was chilled to the bone as I thought of what could have happened had my son been home.  (It was an accident, but please if you have workers on your roof, keep away from skylights, lesson learned).

The foreman called me up at 3pm to say they were done with the roof (record time with two crews, and sorry about the "incident") and oh by the way, they couldn't put the satellite dish back.  DirectTV can't come for 6 days.  The roof was beautiful but all I could think about was the lack of TV.  And it was American Idol results night.

Thursday, the TV deficiency kicks in like coming off caffeine, or lets be real, heroin withdrawal.  I feel like I am at summer camp and have no idea what is going on in the world.  It's very quiet except Jack whining for Diego.    My mom calls at night but says must get off to watch "Gray's Anatomy".  "Is that how you TV people treat us non-TVers?" I ask accusingly.  She assures me she wouldn't get off if it was a repeat, but it's a new episode.  We say goodbye.

Friday I wake up and the week of relentless work, home chaos, pregnancy, and world events takes it toll.  I'm not feeling well at all and try to go back to bed while Jack clamors around my head demanding I get up.  He wants to go to Costco (he likes the big doors).  I offer him ice cream at 10 in the morning to leave me to suffer in peace. 

So now it's Friday night, and technically I have the next two days to turn the course of events for this week.  However, the weekend plans involve moving Jack to his big boy bed, so I'm pretty sure I'm safe in writing this week off.  Over and out.