Don’t you hate those days when you realize you need a complete do-over before 9 o’clock in the morning?
That was my Tuesday.
It started with the coffee. Dear hubby had programmed the automatic timer Monday evening, so I was already in the mood for my morning dose of java juice when I stuck my mug under the spout. Hot clear water poured into my cup. Hubby forgot to pour the water into the proper receptacle.
Then, dear hubby informed me I left my key in the “on” position all night and my car’s battery was dead. AND, I forgot to replace the oil cap when I checked the oil on Sunday (said cap is now MIA). I spent a half hour with a flashlight peering around in the engine searching for the lost cap, to no avail.
|See the rag where the oil cap should be?|
If there’s anything that will ruin my day it’s a poignant reminder of my human fallibility. Silly things like forgetting to write in the amount of a debit card purchase. Or forgetting to replace the oil cap. Or forgetting a scheduled post on the blog I co-write at Inkwell Inspirations.
I didn’t get the email wondering where my post was until mid-afternoon, when I finally sat down at my computer. The same computer which mysteriously began some sort of automatic update with a program designed to reduce my aging laptop’s functional speed to that of a Commodore-64 from Radio Shack. An hour of fiddling and purging and defragging later, I was finally able to reply to my mail
I’m left wondering if there is a clean and defrag program I can schedule for my brain, which is obviously in desperate need of assistance.
To top it off, I haven’t written anything new on my WIP in weeks (for a writer, this is the equivalent of an OCD person forgetting to take a shower). Why haven’t I written anything, you ask? Because I’m hung up on a few comments made by contest judges about my story idea being trite and cliched.
Maybe I should start working on a new story. One about a peri-menopausal chick with peri-adult children and a preteen (and all that entails), and her overwhelming terror that, in fact, she does not have the beginning stages of Alzheimers, but is just another 40-something momma whose brain (and boobs) have succumbed to gravity in spite of underwire bras and New York Times crossword puzzles.
Thank God His mercies are new every morning.
Can I go to bed now?