Wednesdays are the new Mondays

I'd just been getting married to Dave again in jeans and a T-shirt -- and I was angry about having to miss something (probably work, I'm pretty lame) -- because our priest forgot to file our marriage certificate the first time, so it didn't count.

Stay with me, it gets worse.

Then the "I know I'm supposed to be somewhere" feeling when I just figured out after a minute of staring at the clock that "... wait a minute, I wake up at 7:30! And it's 8! And that's AFTER 7:30!"

Then it was that feeling of just-woke-up, dizziness as I run down the steps to get clothes out of the laundry basket (clean, I promise).

And then yell-whispering to my first and second husband "Dave! Move your car! DAVE. WAKE UP," and then dropping everything, phone, moisturizer bottle, my jacket, everything on the way out.

And calling "come here" to our dog on my way out to the car, who then sits down in a pile of mud in the back yard and stares at me like he only responds to one specific command phrase and, oh, it's in Latin, and woman! that ain't it.

... I don't like that.