My crutch is consistency. And Douglas Adams can screw.

This has turned into one of those mornings. On the way home from getting my sons some ice cream and coffee (as well as some actual groceries), someone ran a red light, which caused us to stop short and for me to spill coffee all over my sweater. Then I had an upsetting call with my mother, whose dementia is spiraling. It didn't end well, and I'm not the only person she contacted (or who's upset).

I wanted to cry, and my sister advised that might be the best course of action. The last thing I wanted to do were those grown up things that, you know, help me achieve my goals...but I did them anyway. I did my PT exercises and noticed that, hey, I'm getting much better at them. I forced myself to transcribe this new installment, and you know what, this new twist doesn't suck. And I really, really, did not want to call Nevada voters first thing in their morning, but after bracing myself to get hung up on ten times, three out of ten were pretty nice. 

None of this makes the issues with my mother go away, nor does it address my other anxieties, both personal and, well, larger. But it's not nothing, and sometimes that's a big win.

Right...I'm also keeping up with my reading (yes, thank you, I will take the medal, parade, and statue), but one book I happily ditched into the library was some edited compilation of Douglas Adams' writings. My husband really liked The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy...and then came upon some bs Adams wrote about trying to be Jewish--in no small part because of the size of his nose--but, as the title says, he likes bacon.

God damn, I am so glad I never wasted my precious time on anything he ever wrote. Why someone like that repelled me, I can't tell you, but sometimes my instincts aren't wrong (see also: Roald Dahl and Doctor Seuss). Now if only I could get over The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock...

Deb in the City

Best laid plans (Day 80)

Alternate title: God laughs...only I'm basically an atheist, so that feels disingenuous.

If you're over a certain age--say, fifteen--you probably know the gyst of the sayings "The best laid plans are laid to waste" or "Humans plan, god laughs". That was pretty much today.

For the record, I didn't have ambitious or complicated plans. They mostly revolved around my husband and I getting art supplies for my son and the pieces he needs to mount for a senior show. And then, you know, maybe some vegan ice cream, since that got derailed a bit yesterday, but that was pretty much it. (Actually, wait, I'm lying: I was planning on getting some cleaning done. Please know that if I'm saying that you shouldn't be imagining me adhering to the kinds of schedules women's magazines put out; if I get excited about cleaning the bathroom and kitchen, it's because they *require* a cleaning.)

My day started unusually early, even for me: after going to sleep at 9 because my husband was exhausted (and I had walked all over Boston), I woke up at 12:30 because my son had left his light on and couldn't go back to sleep until 2:30, courtesy of the late (but light) dinner I'd eaten close to 8. I did finally get to sleep--I mean, I woke up at 12:30--and then woke up again a little after 7. That almost never happens, but I confess I kind of enjoyed it. (Side note: it occurred to me while eating breakfast that maybe just maybe the matcha latte I had yesterday was part of the reason I woke up. Curse you, caffeine sensitivity.)

Wonder of wonders, my son was also awake by 7:30. That NEVER happens, but my husband and I were happy he could join us for breakfast. And he was enthusiastic about leaving to go get art supplies. I was finishing up the dishes when all of a sudden my husband felt nauseous, and he's basically been flat on his back ever since. 

Hilarious interlude occurred when my son suggested that my husband had eaten almond butter instead of peanut butter; he just happens to be allergic to almonds. I called my sister because her family has had some experience with anaphylaxis, and then tried very hard to get my husband to go to the ER. He refused. He's also larger than I am, so I couldn't drag him away. However, I did get him to make an appointment to see the doctor tomorrow morning, so there's that.

So you know, I'm not incompetent, and I could have taken my son for art supplies. However, we are temporarily using a rental car--long story, don't ask--and he insisted that because I wasn't listed on the insurance I couldn't drive the car. When I told my sister this, she immediately told me that wasn't the case. I called the rental company, and they assured me that, yep, I could drive as long as our driver's licenses had the same address (they do). I gloated, in no small part because my husband can be insufferable when he's convinced he's right; also, I am prone to gloating. At which point he plaintively asked why I wanted to leave him when he was sick.

Thus have I spent most of my day essentially watching him sleep. Good news: he's feeling better.

I can clean tomorrow, and my husband can pick up the supplies while he's out and about. So it's all good...except for the part about the vegan ice cream.

Deb in the City