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One of THOSE Days
Jun. 6th, 2019 09:44 amThree nights in a row, I slept very badly. So, last night, I finally popped melatonin and slept like the proverbial baby.
I don’t know where that idiom comes from—anyone who knows anything about babies knows they’re terrible sleepers.
What I mean to say is I slept deeply and refreshingly. So, this morning the inside of my head doesn’t feel encrusted with black spider webs and decaying bats’ nests. Just ordinary, run-of-the-mill near-panic.
Don’t know where the near-panic is coming from.
Like a good little soldier, I called my mechanic and made an appointment to take the car in Monday.
I will deal with the other Don’t-Wanna-But-Gotta thing today.
Both things will cost $$$$, but that’s why I have plastic.
In a just universe, the car would magically fix itself and Michael Anthony would even now be Googling my unlisted phone number so that he could present me with a cashier’s check for one million dollars, autographed by John Beresford Tipton himself.
But as we all know, it’s not a just universe. Yemeni children starve; three-quarters of the developing world’s population are trapped in food deserts; 60,000 homeless people in Los Angeles live within five miles of Beverly Hills. I must pay for my own auto repairs.
###
Also the bday gift I sent to B at inordinate expense—a framed photo!—has disappeared into the bowels of the U.S. Postal System along with all those other packages of nitroglycerines, rifle cartridges and nail polish that are currently impeding that noble bureaucracy’s digestion. It’s one of those days.
I’m going to go out and steal some flowers from my neighbors’ peony bushes.
I don’t know where that idiom comes from—anyone who knows anything about babies knows they’re terrible sleepers.
What I mean to say is I slept deeply and refreshingly. So, this morning the inside of my head doesn’t feel encrusted with black spider webs and decaying bats’ nests. Just ordinary, run-of-the-mill near-panic.
Don’t know where the near-panic is coming from.
Like a good little soldier, I called my mechanic and made an appointment to take the car in Monday.
I will deal with the other Don’t-Wanna-But-Gotta thing today.
Both things will cost $$$$, but that’s why I have plastic.
In a just universe, the car would magically fix itself and Michael Anthony would even now be Googling my unlisted phone number so that he could present me with a cashier’s check for one million dollars, autographed by John Beresford Tipton himself.
But as we all know, it’s not a just universe. Yemeni children starve; three-quarters of the developing world’s population are trapped in food deserts; 60,000 homeless people in Los Angeles live within five miles of Beverly Hills. I must pay for my own auto repairs.
###
Also the bday gift I sent to B at inordinate expense—a framed photo!—has disappeared into the bowels of the U.S. Postal System along with all those other packages of nitroglycerines, rifle cartridges and nail polish that are currently impeding that noble bureaucracy’s digestion. It’s one of those days.
I’m going to go out and steal some flowers from my neighbors’ peony bushes.
