The universe might be out to get me

Daylight Savings Time is a real b, isn't she? Frank and I woke up super late on Sunday and had to scramble to find a later Mass at a different parish because we'd slept through the last one at ours. Pros: We checked the other parish off the "Visit at least once" bucket list. Cons: We will definitely only be visiting once... if you know what I mean. Now it's Wednesday and I still feel like I'm suffering from severe jet lag.

I woke up this morning at 9:20. I was supposed to be at work at 9:00. Curses. I scrambled outside only to find my car covered with a generous layer of snow. After spending way more time than I had to spare clearing it off, I backed out in a rush ... only to land right in a nice big snowbank and get stuck. Despite my proven car-shoveling abilities, I did not have the time for this nonsense. Fortunately two of Frank's co-workers were walking past (at least I assumed they were his co-workers because they came out of his office building) and valiantly came to my rescue with shovels. After much pushing, the car was clear and off I went to work.

Here is what campus looked like when I arrived:

Charming.

"You're lucky you're pretty," I grumbled to the snow, "because I am completely fed up with you."

Someone once told me, "In Chicago, winter lasts from Halloween to St. Patrick's Day." Well, it's less than a week til St. Paddy's, so Chicago better get its act together pronto.

The rest of the day kept going like that. Stupid stuff like how the soap dispenser in the bathroom fell off when I tried to use it. Nothing big, but all these silly little inconveniences that added up to me feeling generally disgruntled.

It's just one of those weeks. You know? Frank has been buried in an avalanche of work and on top of that he is dealing with some really difficult things involving his extended family. I can't go into details, but if you can spare a prayer for him and his family, it would mean a lot to us.

At least we can end this post on a funny note. Last night I took a picture of the stairs down to our (only accessible from the outside) laundry room:

The stairs are buried under a frozen avalanche of ice. This is why we've taken to doing laundry at my parents' house—even though my littlest sister totally judges us with a "You brought laundry again???" every time we do it. To which I say, "Just give it 15 years. You'll understand."