My sleeping was a little erratic last night.
I’ve become Bed Cop (certainly not a job I would ever have accepted if it hadn’t been stuck like gum to parenthood) and I get up at 2 or 3 to see if the lads are in bed, if the lights are left on or the doors left unlocked. On their own, they would stay up every night until 4 am and sleep until 2. I’m not sure this is wrong, and it certainly runs in the male line of the family, but it fits poorly with the school schedule to which they return in just a few weeks. I’m inching them back to the schedule of the business world.Evan and his true love, pasta
But, sadly, after chivvying them into bed at 2:15 this morning, I found myself unable to get back to sleep, and I logged on and answered the email from Amazon customers, which is always the same: they click Tracking to check the progress of their order, and the postal system shows me dropping it off at the post office by marking that action “Delivered to Tucson”. People say, OMG, delivered to TUCSON, I live in VIRGINIA. And they email me. So, I answered a little stack of those.
I wish the Post Office web designers would take action; words like “Delivered” have meaning in this world. There is “Dropped Off”, which is what I do, and then there is “Delivered”, which is what they do. They are only mildly interested in my input, at best; I feel if I could reach the right person writing code they would slap their head, say “DUH!” and fix it, and the emails would stop. I contemplated putting a sentence explaining this in my product description.
I worried over a Palo Verde beetle, who had been caught in my tomato net days ago and freed, but who still had a bit of net stuck under her carapace that I couldn’t trim out without risking injury to her strong, waving legs. She was visibly struggling. I tried to console myself by thinking of how terribly the females are injured by their mates; entire legs are lost and they trundle on, how they only have a month to live anyway, but she wasn’t OK, and I was so upset to see her suffering over my stupid net (and to remember what might have befallen the two songbirds tangled in it in July had I not been here to free them) that I went to the tomato zone and removed the cruel fabric completely, wadded it up in a box and left the tomato plants to the birds and beetles. Fuck tomatoes. I can buy them in the market from organic growers. A summer of tomatoes isn’t worth one creature, caught and hurt in my greedy net. Next time I’ll rig a greenhouse, or fine chicken wire.
I was up for hours, presenting nothing more than the picture of the sanctimonious Do As I Say parent, making kids go to bed while I stayed up doing what I wanted. I fell back asleep at dawn, slept through the Cox Cable call to let me know that they were on their way to my house, and was awakened by a loud knock at the door. I gathered whatever shreds of dignity I could muster up as I led the guy into my BEDROOM where the modem is, and he graciously did not complain as I moved my photo tent, Miss Fish’s cat food, the beadwork lined up to shoot, made a smooth spot on the unmade bed for his test Pad.
But I am undaunted. The Internet is indeed fixed, and screaming along at the correct speed, the beetle died in the night; she is unquestioningly on my ticket, but at least her suffering is over, and there won’t be a repeat of my specific crime. The boys are placidly sleeping, the day is whatever I make of it. So far it’s rainy and overcast, but I have plenty of shipping to do, and a fresh pot of coffee.