Ahhh…the delightfulness of a Friday yawning ahead of me with nary a plan in sight. My favorite sort of day.
I should have known that it might not be so when I forced myself to get up at a minute before eight because at least I could have bragging rights to it. Not that there would be anyone who cared, of course. Most people I know would have lounged in bed after getting up at 5am for the past three mornings to walk a few miles before starting the day. My feet hurt. My ankles hurt. My back hurts in a place I didn’t even know existed. It is so true about what they say about using it or losing it. I’d like to lose it, because at least then it wouldn’t hurt.
I valiantly edged out from underneath the rising garage door to retrieve the paper, averting my eyes from anyone on the block who might see me in my tacky sleepwear of wrinkly lime green tee and wadded up brown and pink polka dot bottoms. What might they think?
That I’m a blogger?
I was determined to straighten up the kitchen, and then relax with my coffee. I’d read the local paper, which hasn’t been removed from its bag in quite some time, building up in the garage after being kicked in each day to collide with the others in a move one might execute in a lawn game involving colorful balls.
I did get the kitchen cleaned, but I never made it to the paper.
And somehow it was suddenly 11:40. And then it was 1:55. How does that happen? I knew I had to pick up the my son at school and drive him to spend the weekend with his cousin who is also sort of like an only child. They have quite a bit of fun together laughing about things I can barely understand. It’s fun to watch them and it’s important that they spend time together.
But my son had a Spanish test today, and I made the grave error of asking him about it after we were involved in the kind of talk we both enjoy while on the way to his cousin’s house. Like smacking each other when we see a Prius and yelling, “LunchBox!”
I know. But we think it’s hilarious. If we see a red one, it’s worth three. I’ll get around to explaining how it came to be some day when I’m not wallowing yet again in self loathing.
At some point, after I’ve explained my frustration with his chosen inability to learn enough Spanish vocabulary to understand the questions he’s expected to answer on exams, when he can memorize entire lines of dialogue and recite them ad nauseum, he does direct my attention to the hills that edge the freeway.
They’re ablaze with wild mustard. You know it’s spring in Paradise when the wild mustard blooms alongside the golden poppies, and it is quite beautiful when you take the time to notice.
He is doing more than trying to change the subject.
He’s trying to make me feel better because he knows I love pleasant distractions. He also knows that I am so tired of anything that has to do with school I can’t see straight. I have spent only four years of my entire life without being involved in school at some level and those years were the first four of my life.
I’m so fried, I’m crispy around the edges. Done.
I dropped him off, telling him to apologize for me about not going in to say hello to my sister-in-law. After removing his bag, guitar, and box of models, he shut the car door and bent over to look through the window at me. Smiling.
Nice kid. Really.
Too bad his mom’s a pain in the ass. And my state only deteriorated after dealing with Friday traffic in Paradise which isn’t nearly as bad as that of L.A., but bad enough. The trip took nearly three hours. Three.
And so I’m sitting here sifting through the remnants of this day, looking at a card I found shoved in a drawer I was looking for batteries in earlier today. My mouse finally died, and when I pushed through the clutter, I found the card. It was given to me by two people whom I once knew. The inside message was hand-written and I think it’s apropos:
I am still determined to be cheerful and happy in whatever situation I may be in, for I have also learned from experience that the greater part of our misery or happiness depends upon our own disposition and not on our circumstances.
— Tehmina Qureshi
So true. So very true.
Good to think about on a Friday.