Ever have one of those days when everything you touch goes SPROOOOIIINNNGGGGG? Oh, heck: you don’t even have to touch it to make it go SPROING! All you have to do is think about it.
This afternoon I had to call a halt. My mood was so crabby and my competence level buried so deep beneath the sub-basement that after beating back the jungle vines of mis-serendipity for several hours, I decided that it was time to just…fuckin’…STOP. Yes. I do need to go to Home Depot to get a bunch of stuff for Gerardo and for myself and yes, I do need to go to Sprouts, and yes, tomorrow’s doctor visit will take me far, far in the opposite direction from those destinations…but—
But at some point I realized that if I get in the car I’m going to kill someone. Why? Because everything I touch today goes spectacularly, harryingly, tooth-grindingly wrong. I decide that the better part of valor is to stay off the roads, to forego the errands, to effing STAY HOME.
So when I finally make that Decision — effing STAY HOME — I realize God is saying to Herself, “Well! How many times do I have to slap her upside the head to get her attention?”
It is 100 degrees in the shade outside. Thank you, God, that You steered me away from that tenure-track job in South Carolina. Yeah, You remember: the one where they proposed to pay less than You were getting me paid for that nontenurable position here, but the most spectacular house in a forest was for sale for significantly less than I could get for the Funny Farm? Oh, dear God: sooo glad I’m not in South Carolina today. Or anywhere near the Southeast.
Thank you, God, for causing my father to run away from home at the age of 16 or 17, lie about his age, and join the Navy. Thank you, God, that he did not stay in Ft. Worth or Dallas or (yipes!) Houston.
Thank you, God, for allowing my mother, in her subtle way (do it, dear, and when we divorce I get half of all your coveted worldly goods…), to dissuade my father from retiring to Possum Kingdom, down on the Brazos. Thank you, God, that he did not end up sending me to some junior college in Texas, or, at best, UT Austin. Not that Austin isn’t wonderful…just that it has…well, hurricanes and tornadoes.
Thank you, God, for seeing to it that DH never got a job offer from Atlanta or any such waypoints, and that he never took it into his head to move to where his brother came to light: Houston.
Yesh. I’ll take 100 degrees in the shade any day, Ma’am, to hurricanes, floods, crashing trees, flying trailer homes or tornadoes. Any day.
It feels like I’ve accomplished nothing today, but in fact…what have I done?
- Written a blog post.
- Worked on a new book project (no, not the latest novel: something Altogether Different)
- Figured out how best to deal with the Equifax betrayal
- Done battle with Experian
- Read behind my business partner on three contributions to the journal
- Did not lose my temper altogether at polemic disguised as scholarship
- Lost Charley not once, but twice
- Hauled garbage
- Got locked out of the backyard when the gate jammed.
- Found some cash for a charitable cause
- Got a ticket to an event & invited three other people to join me
- Wangled an appointment with a doctor tomorrow
Yes. I lost my son’s dog. Twice.
I live in fear that this critter is going to slip out of the yard when I go into the alley. So try to observe where he is. This is a trick, as it develops.
Returning from a trash run, I call the dog.
I search in every dog nest:
- The floor in the hall where the AC keeps things especially cool
- The floor by the front door, where he hopes my son will soon come back in
- The floor in the family room, closer to Food
- The floor in the bedroom, where he can keep an eye on Cassie and Ruby
- The backyard, under the trees and around the patios.
Just as we hit the holy shit! stage, I find this: