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05 September 2010 @ 06:21 pm
 
Today has been A Day.

It all began at 4 a.m. and the sound of a kitty retching. It was Handsome Tom. Yes, I can tell just by the sound which kitty is getting sick. It’s good to have skills. Bleary eyed, I stumbled out of bed, snagged a roll of paper towels and a spray bottle of cleaner and set out to find the site of the evacuation.


I’ll give this to my boy: he’s ambitious. The girls would’ve been happy to empty their bellies in a single spot. From his perch on the hutch, HT hit the side panel, the little cat scratcher directly beneath, a foot square section of the floor and the base of two cast iron candle holders. After threatening to trade him for magic beans and cleaning up the mess, I crawled back into bed where I failed to fall back asleep for the better part of an hour. Lucky for me I had a super-affectionate loving-the-cool-weather tom cat to snuggle with. I’d suspect the entire ‘sick’ thing was a ploy to get me awake and therefore capable of delivering skritches, but Tom really isn’t all that bright, even for a cat.

So. Slept again at last. Woke early and chugged two huge honking glasses of water. Did laundry. Grabbed my roller blades, protective gear and my purse and headed out the door.

Without my keys.

I realized it when I was but two steps away from the door. Now, this has happened before, but save for the first time, I’ve been able to use the key we keep hidden in a Super Secret Place. The same key that was, at present, hanging on the key rack just above the telephone inside my living room. The good news was that I had my cell phone, and I was reasonably certain my SIL had a copy of our house key. The bad news was that I get crap reception on my property, and was barely able to make a choppy, static filled call to her. The badder news was that she was at church and wouldn’t be home for a good long while.

So I broke in. I won’t go into the details save to say it involved a garden weeder, a pitchfork, contortions of which I did not know I was capable, roundly cursing the size of my breasts, duct tape, and a whole lot of trying to convince myself that we really needed to replace that screen, anyway. True story.

Once I’d regained my house, I grabbed my car keys and held them tightly. After returning the spare key to the Super Secret Place, I headed for the park. Now, I’ve not been on roller blades in, oh, fifteen years. I used to skate a lot when I was living in CT. I was never any good, but I could go forwards and back and sort of fast and I didn’t fall that often. Plus, there was a great park with smooth, paved paths. This park? Not so much, but it’s the best I’ve found so far. Anyway, I padded up (wrist guards and knee pads) and rolled away from my car, down a small incline and over huge-ass metal plates in the middle of the road. Awesome. Didn’t fall, so that was a plus. I skated to the park entrance and back, over the metal plates, past the parking lot and a little distance up the road that leads to the development where my MIL lives (which, it suddenly occurs to me, would be an excellent place to skate. duh) but turned back when I realized the return trip would send me plummeting down a hill at speeds I was not ready to face. All in all, it was probably just over half a mile. My ankles felt tired, though; until I get them accustomed to this sort of exercise, I’m not going to push it. I’ll keep the skates and pads in my car. Maybe I can fit in a half hour a couple of times a week before work.

Following my triumphant re-entry into the world of inline skating, I went to the Farmer’s Market. Bought too much bread, some super yummy Gala apples, pesto, a packed bag from my usual veggie stand and a bunch of fresh eucalyptus. Giggled ridiculously at something Adorable Pesto guy said, which suggests that the encroaching years will never diminish my inability to act normally around boys.

There was a message waiting for me at home; my other SIL (she of the Barn House of Awesomeness) invited me to meet her husband and their friends for breakfast at a local farm. I was in. I even took a few pains over my appearance, which - I’ll be honest with you - I rarely do. Today, I wore my brown Sarah Jane boots, an above-the-knee straight denim skirt and a cute top that I’ve had for two years and have worn all of twice. I am no dab hand at putting together outfits, but this looked quite nice.

Directions in hand, off I went. And went. And went. And was totally unable to find the freakin’ road I was supposed to turn onto, much less the farm. And my gas tank was running low, and I couldn’t call my SIL to have her let her husband know I was running late (and, later, not going to make it at all) because there was zero cell reception. It wasn’t until I was back in town, three minutes from my house, that I was able to reach her answering machine.

Cranky and shaky (I hadn’t eaten since the previous evening, and it was now past 11 a.m.), I wolfed down a bowl of salad and some soup, which revived me sufficiently that I was able to go to the grocery store.

Out of nowhere, I decided that I wanted ice cream. Nay - DESERVED ice cream. After the up and downs of the day (and my hormones; clearly I am PMSing like it’s my job), the very best thing I could do was to go to Bellvale and get a cup of something delicious. Like vanilla. Honestly, if there was no other flavor, ever, I’d be troubled not a whit. To Bellvale I went, found a parking spot in the insanely crowded gravel ‘lot’ and headed toward the counter.

The line was a dozen people deep, just from the door. There had to be at least half a dozen inside as well, maybe more. I spun on my smartly booted heel, got in my car and drove home, certain that the universe had just delivered a message, and that message was, “Kelly, you are a load.*” Five minutes later, I realized I wasn’t craving sweets all that badly, so it was all good. Yay, mood swings!

Home again to find that Jilly had coughed up a hairball on her blanket.




I’ve been laying low since.





*I know this isn't true, but it felt as if it was in the moment. No need to yell or reassure. I'm good. Really.
 
 
 
Annephloxyloxy on September 6th, 2010 03:53 am (UTC)
I'm sorry you've had a shitty day, but I am very impressed that you broke into your own house! It's like you have secret thieving superhero (anti-hero?) skills!
Tamora Piercetammypierce on September 7th, 2010 01:35 pm (UTC)
Some days it's just better to crawl under the bed and not come out till someone sticks the broom handle under there.

Though the skate blading is an advance for womankind! (I'da broken my neck!)