|
navigation
current
archives
links page
profile
|
|
the B stands for barf
July 10, 2017, 6:59 P.M.
The weather was splendid all weekend, sunny, not too hot, not too humid. We didn't do much, though. On Friday, when I got home from work, we ran down to Gurnee for a roast beef sandwich at Jersey Mike's, and then over to Waukegan to Lewis Produce, and picked up a few things. We had leftovers for dinner, and I talked to my dad for a while. I broke it to him that Spouse was out of work again, but tried to make it clear that we will be okay and get though it, and we are making it an opportunity to get his degree. I know he was upset--my choice of husband has always been a disappointment to Dad, because he is so responsible and Spouse is...not. But he also knows I am the dependable one, and I make it all work. Somehow.
Saturday I got up early because I couldn't get back to sleep. It would have been my little brother's 50th birthday, and I was feeling kind of down.
So I got up, threw in a load of wash, then I was sitting and having my coffee and a croissant--when the B had a major barf all over the living room carpet. So I jumped up and cleared it away with paper towels and the dustpan, then ran downstairs & grabbed the carpet shampooer so we could get it up out of the rug right away.
After we got that dealt with and the B settled, I advanced the laundry, then we got cleaned up and made a quick shopping run to Costco and Meijer. The rest of the day was taken up with a few household chores, plus some relaxation, of course. I did get in some pool time: I vaccuumed, did water aerobics, and swam a little. Spouse made a nice pasta dinner; grilled Italian sausage in marinara, over angel hair--with garlic bread and a salad. Then we just kind of kicked back until bedtime.
Sunday, Spouse made pancakes and sausage, which I ate with cherry "syrup". Basically, just my homemade cherry jam that didn't set, but it was damned tasty, anyway. We decided to run to Menards for some mounting hardware for the 13-foot "shade sail" I bought at Costco last year, on clearance for ten bucks. While we were out, we realized that the dog is almost out of his special grain-free treats, so we ran up to Sturtevant and bought a few bags at the Farm and Fleet, since the savings on three bags is about $10 over buying them in town, at the Petco.
When we got home, Spouse did some minor repairs on my car--the front pillar covers were loose, so he screwed them back into place, and he touched up the base of my windshield wiper with some black paint, because it had peeled off.
I made us a cool drink, then when I was done with mine, I jumped into the pool for about a half-hour. I didn't want to burn so I limited myself. Came in and had cherries and popcorn for lunch, then went out and put everything away and gave the pool its weekly algaecide treatment. We stretched out for an afternoon nap, but neither one of us ended up sleeping--I read and played games on my phone, until it was time to get up and feed the dog.
Spouse made BBQ chicken on the grill and baked potatoes for dinner, which were delicious. I contributed steamed sweet corn, but it was terrible--I only had a couple of bites of it before I gave up and chucked it. It was too old, I think. Since it was Sunday night, I got all my stuff in order for Monday morning, and listened to all the idiots who thought it would be a good idea to shoot off fireworks on a work night. Spouse went to bed to read, but ended up trying to comfort the dog again.
Woke up at three this morning to horrendous thunderstorms and torrential rains. Just as one storm ended, another one rolled through--is sounded like Armageddon outside. The dog was so desperate he went out in it willingly, but he wasn't gone long and he was completely soaked when he came back in. We got him toweled off, pilled, fed, watered, and pilled again--and he went straight back to his hidey-hole in the closet.
The weather being so nasty, I decided I'd leave about ten minutes early, so I threw on my raincoat and sloshed out to the car.
Good thing--it was a major mess. Intersections flooded, streets closed, streetlights out--pouring rain and dark as pitch, too. It took me 30 minutes to go the five miles from my house to the interstate, and I nearly got creamed at GBR, when an asshole in a pickup decided the flashing red lights meant he didn't have to stop.
It was white-knuckle all the way to work, but I got there on time. Not MY "on time"--that would be early enough for me to get some treadmill work in. But on time, as in before my start time so I don't get dinged with an occurrence for being tardy, anyway.
Not that there was anyone to make note of it, one way or the other. I was the only person working in my department, yet again. (Well, in my office. There may have been somebody in Ohio; who knows? And the chick who works in Michigan was on. But these are not people with whom I work directly, so who cares?)
Anyway it was a shit day. They are all shit days. All around me, I see people having lives, and all I get it this miserable, scratching existence. I don't know how they can do what they do--I don't have it in me to make the kind of change that would be necessary to turn it all around.
Every day, I read posts about how every day you continue to live is a victory, and staying the same is better than getting worse--but is it, really? If I can't get better--at least "better enough" to change my life--then every day lived is a misery, not a vctory. Life with nothing to live for is pointless and cruel.
Basically, all I can do is frame it as "every day I don't off myself is a day when I didn't destroy my dad." Because it would, and I know it, and that is how I keep going. He never got over Sammy, and if he lost another kid to it, he would blame himself, he would die of a broken heart. So...kindness to others, I guess? Or maybe just guilt. That's far more likely.
Reading: "A Prince to Order" (1904), by Charles Stokes Wayne.
Carey Grey wakes up in a Paris hotel, realizes that he's lost several months of his life, and his hair is a different color. He bumps into an acquaintance on the street, who informs him that he disappeared from New York under a cloud, is believed by most people to be dead, and and should go look himself up in the newspaper archives for the full story. He finds out that he did disappear in disgrace, is believed guilty of embezzlement, and is is, indeed, thought to be dead. When he goes back to his hotel, he's addressed as Herr Arndt, and taken to the bedside of a dying man, receives a cryptic message, and finds out that despite waking up as someone else entirely, he still, somehow, has the same valet.
And I'm only on chapter three.
Listening: Red Hot Chili Peppers, The Staple Singers, Shawn Mullins, Stray Cats.
Inked Up:Bexley 10th Anni Italic/Waterman Tender Purple, Lamy Safari Fine/Iroshizuku Tsutsuji, SkilCraft Executive Blue Med/Iroshizuku Kon Peki, Duke Esteem F-M/"Binder Burgundy".
Yep, I decided to give the Conklin some time off-can you believe it?! (And Waterman Tender Purple isn't particularly spectacular in the italic nib, but I have a large bottle of it, and that thing goes through some ink.)
|
|