The MoH’s birthday was yesterday. All was well until I ran out of gas. Not the gas in the car. Me. No. Not flatulence for gawd’s sake. Gimmeabreak here. I’m trying to keep it straight today.
Energy. My get up and go not only got up and went — it never showed up. I’ve been diligently employed for a whopping six days as of yesterday and I feel like I need to ask the next passerby if she can get the number off the truck that ran over me.
It’s quite humbling.
How will it feel when I’m sixty-three or whatever the words in that Beatles’ song were.
Such a very sad state of affairs.
After working, stopping to get cards and wrapping paper, doing my afternoon carpool duty for the highschoolers, and making the MoH his totally favorite chocolate pie (drooled over for as long as he can remember that his mother made him for his birthday because it was his father’s and grandfather’s favorite) then left the pie in the oven for the RT to handle while I ran down the hill to get take out for dinner before we decorated our Christmas tree to the pre-planned vibes of the Trans-Siberian Orchestra…
I crashed. Not the car. Jeez.
Like a computer. Or maybe it was more like when a generator shuts off and you can hear the motor grinding down laboriously to a deeply resonating end.
Nuclear. Okay, so I know that a generator is mechanical and anything nuclear is anything but, well, that’s not quite right either, but you get the picture, right? So for the purposes of imagery, I’ll add a bright white flash to the grinding sound and call Stephen Spielberg for advice.
I’ll have to promise you news at eleven on this one, because I’ll never do it justice. Suffice it to say I am very close to people who work until their tongues hang out slapping against the sidewalk DAILY. Seventy hours a week. And they do it with grace and dignity. Okay, so some smack talking from time to time. Happy hour. But they do it.
Me? My grand total for hours worked since I began is 32.5. I used to do that in my sleep in less than two days. Okay, so more than my tongue was dragging then, but I paid dearly for that. Now?
Like I said. I’m dealing with it. It only confirms what I’ve always thought about myself. I’m either ON or OFF. There’s no MEDIUM on this model. It completely sucks because something always falls to the wayside. And trust me — it’s never been work. Oh, no. Gotta be there early, and huff and puff while I’m doing it, and try to figure everything out yesterday. Even if it isn’t my job.
It’s the bane of my existence.
So to just put this in a nutshell, (and Dawn from Twisted Sister called it straight when she awarded me with the “I’m a Little Nutty” Award) after the Chinese take out for dinner last night, and after the MoH had yet again listened, and listened, and listened, and then helped me decorate the tree even though he had to get up at 5AM to crank something out at work, I opened my fortune cookie.
I think I’ve bragged many times about my fortunes and horror-scopes before and how completely positively wonderous they are. Funny thing, though. It said, “Keep your expectations reasonable.”
Huh? How’d the fortune cookie god know?
I could have had either of the other two cookies, because their fortunes were much more in line with what I usually end up with: “Chances of glamour and excitement are coming to you;” or “Luck is with you now. Act upon your instincts.”
Now what the hell is that supposed to mean after a lifetime of promises of fame and fortune, happiness and hilarity?
I’m going to get crap in my fortune cookies from now on because my expectations aren’t reasonable?
Good thing I’ve got friends in Bloggsville like Dave from Wandering the Ether (he awarded me with the fairly swanky “Colors of Friendship” award) who understand that even though 99% of us will never, ever physically meet, the time we spend reading each other’s trials and celebrations, revelations and disappointments, opinions and understandings may very well be more important that some relationships we’ve had with humans we can shake hands with each day.
And that is what actually caused my meltdown on the MoH’s birthday and how rude of me. This is the first post I’ve managed in four days here. And my food blog? Feh. I miss visiting the people I’ve come to know over the last nine months. I miss laughing with them, and feeling the angst caused by another, or the emotion caused by a memory.
I miss writing and cooking and writing about cooking — my very favorite things.
So bear with me as I figure this all out.
Oh, and I will “keep my expectations reasonable” lest I anger the fortune cookie god. Jeez. Stoopid fortune. I want my money back.
Life is just weird sometimes, isn’t it?
Friends and nuts, I’ll be back shortly.