Drat! I’m missing one of the three nights I was looking forward to spending with my handsome, civilzed husband before spiraling off into adventures across the ocean. I feel the loss of his strong arms keenly.
I was on target this morning (or thought I was) but although I was up and batting at 4 a.m., bizarre things kept going wrong. My Miata doesn’t like to start when it’s cold, which is a new prejudice, and I had foolishly forgotten that, and planned a round of morning errands that would feed my day’s tasks- boxes for shipping, milk for coffee. And then Simon was a no-show at breakfast, not awesome for a flyaway day.
I refused to get derailed by either problem. Simon would be home soon. My car would start when the sun fell onto it’s hood. I set to boxing up what I could. Except I couldn’t find my scissors. ANYWHERE. And I had two pairs. So I said, I can deal with this. I’ll go get those three last photos, and I’ll probably notice the scissors. Except I had screwed some jackwagon accoutrement onto my IPhone (which is my camera), a nifty little wisp of space-strong metal that provides a secure hole to hook a lanyard onto, perfect for globetrotting. Except I couldn’t find the lanyard, and astoundingly, the little piece of metal occluded my DiffCase (which is my tripod mount) by the tiniest fraction of a millimeter, just enough to prevent me from securing it to my tripod. And I couldn’t find the highly specialized, inch-long tiny screwdriver that I’d screwed it on with, to remove the now-hated lanyard-loop.
None of my metal-cutters could cut the space-strong metal, or bend that tiny edge in even a tiny bit. I was awed.
NO MATTER, I said, at least I can print out all of the mailing labels, and I’ll probably notice the scissors and the tiny screwdriver. So I sat down and started busily doing that. Simon came home, looking somewhat sheepish, and had breakfast, and then I got an email suitable for Jr. High. And then my dishwasher backed up. NOT A FUCKING PROBLEM I said, and called Russell The Kingly and he came over and fixed it, and fixed my aerator, too, and smiled handsomely, and said, “Have a wonderful trip” and it was like, noon.
I finished packing and delivering the last of the 100, or 1000, however-many, boxes of beadwork still here on site, regretting that I had never had enough time to sit down and do them properly, with wrapped thank-you gifts, handwritten notes, and perhaps a French chocolate tucked under some virtual pillow. But I hadn’t, and I didn’t, so I just sent everything straight home, and hoped that when the boxes were opened, somehow out of the simple notes I did enclose, my love would leap out and fill 100 or 1000 rooms.
And I finished it all just as the clock struck 3 and then I watered the garden and fed the cats and brought in the trash cans and unloaded the dishwasher and washed the dirty dishes and realized I was about to cry, which was kind of funny, because I mistake myself for a superhero. But it didn’t seem like a great idea to run for the bus to drive to the plane and start six hours of travel after twelve hours of all of that, so I ran those errands (and saw the WEINERMOBILE), tucked up with Miss Fish instead of my lovely husband, and I’m off to fly at crack of Dark instead.
I never did find the tiny screwdriver, so I’m carrying around my empty Diffcase and my naked phone, with that astonishing piece of metal still firmly, annoyingly, impressively screwed onto it.
I’ll leave it to Doriot to tell you all of the crazy shiz that exploded in HER house today, as she also prepares to go to Oxford and Barcelona.