Snapshot: Duh.

I can always tell when I'm under a lot of stress.

I get things mixed up or I forget them altogether. Of course, that is also a sign of dementia or Alzheimer's, but I think I'm still too young for those.

A co-worker's husband passed away last week. An email made the rounds about a memorial service that was scheduled for Saturday.

They live a couple hours away from me, so I got up at 6:00, drank coffee for a little while, got a shower, started getting ready.

Woke Rockboy up so that he could go take his ACT today. (Graduation requirement!)

Went back to the bathroom, put on moisturizer. (I'm trying to be better about doing that. The closer I get to 40, the more I worry about it. What kind of moisturizer do you like? There are only about forty-eleven choices and I had a panicky moment at Walgreens trying to make up my mind. What was I talking about?)

Oh yes, so duly moisturized, brush teeth, wake Rockboy up again and tell him to get his ass in gear, shuffle back to the bathroom, put on make-up.

Wake up Rockboy again, go back to the bathroom, towel-dry hair, detangle, look at make-up and wonder if I look like I forgot to wash my face due to the moisturizer making the make-up seem a little harsh.

Go get more coffee. Go back into bedroom, Redneck is awake and staring around like he has no idea why he's awake. (He's awake because he said he would drive me to the memorial service.)

Glad he's awake, go back into bathroom to dry hair with the door open. (It's hot as hell drying hair in a closed bathroom. Makes your make-up come off.)

Hair finally dry, plug in flat iron. Put on black tights. Ponder between two skirts - the long, black, drapey one or the short, straight gray one. Ask Redneck. He chooses the long one. (Good choice - it's cold here.) Ask him why he chose that one. Listen to him grumble about me asking him which one and then asking questions about it. Ignore him. Go straighten hair.

Check on Rockboy. He's up and moving. Good Rockboy.

Get dressed. Figure out which earrings to wear. (Note: sparkly Christmas stocking earrings are not somber enough for a memorial service.) Decide on long, dangly, pearl ones.

Go back to bathroom to brush hair. Drop brush on floor. Yell bad word when the handle of the brush breaks off. Decide the smaller brush (minus handle) fits better in purse.

Rockboy leaves to take the ACT. Redneck gets dressed and starts the car so it will warm up. Grab last minute crap (nail file, hanky) and find decent coat. (Note: do not wear your Harley Cafe/Las Vegas jean jacket to a memorial service.)

Program Garman, hit the road.

Drive for approximately three days. Decide to call other co-workers to see who's going.

Talk to co-worker #1: Are you going to the memorial service?
Co-worker: I don't know - we had some plans for next Saturday.
Me: Isn't it today?
Co-worker: No, I think it's next weekend.
Me: Fuck. I've got to call Co-worker #2. Bye.

Call co-worker #2: Hey, are you going to the memorial service today?
Co-worker #2: It's next Saturday - the 13th.
Me: It's not today? Are you sure?
Co-worker #2: It's next Saturday.
Me: Fuck. I'm already almost up there.

Me: (Look at Redneck guiltily.)
Redneck: Next Saturday.
Me: Um, yes?
Redneck: You made me get up early.
Me: You woke up on your own.
Redneck: Never mind, we'll find something to do up here.
Me: (Looking down at long, black, drapey skirt and boots) Ok. (Thinking my feet already hurt and I haven't walked anywhere yet.)

I ask you, Patient Reader - who the hell gets the date for a MEMORIAL SERVICE wrong? Roadchick, that's who. The only way it could've been worse was if we had driven the remaining 50 miles only to get to the church and then start wondering where everyone was.

How was YOUR weekend?