Crash

June 20, 2013

Mostly I live my life wandering around about two or three inches above planet earth. That is how I’m oblivious, mostly, to the grime along the baseboards in the kitchen, how I barely see the dead chipmunk I need to step over on my way down the walk to get the newspaper, how I avoid dealing with cluttered closets and a pile of “artwork” I’ve been collecting since Katy figured out what crayons were for.

This attitude applies to most parts of my life.  When it comes to our finances, or lack of finances, 95% of the time I’m in a blissful place where it’s lovely to have my daughter give me pedicures. I don’t even stop and think  when I stop to count  quarters before I suggest a trip to the Dairy Freeze.

But today I found myself yanked, unpleasantly delivered, to solid ground, no rose colored glasses, no down pillows to break my fall.

It’s the end of the school year. My son misplaced a geography textbook. Katy lost two library books. The notices say if I don’t “remit payment before the end of the school year”, five days from now, report cards will be withheld.

I’m in the process of negotiations with the powers that be at both schools to purchase replacements on EBay. The powers that be aren’t terribly pleased with my offer, since the books won’t arrive until about a week after the last day of school. Right now, it looks like my refrigerator is going to have to hold onto last semester’s report cards until fall.

After about an hour exchanging emails and bumping around used book sites, I needed to get up and get out. I didn’t give my children the usual speech about not talking to strangers and not to put anything  metal in the microwave.

I told Katy she was never, ever going to get another book out of the library again.

I told Colin he needs to get a job making bagels at Brueggers, even if he has to lie about his age on the application.

I think they were probably pretty happy to see me go.

I broke out my music, and my ear buds, and in the search bar, punched in the word “martyr’.

“Accidentally Like A Martyr? came on by Warren Zevon.

I’m not going to ramble on about the amazing music of Warren Zevon. If you have any interest, you should listen. Especially if you’re not having the best of days.

His songs are beautiful, sweet, funny, loud, obnoxious, bitter and silly. He died of a brain tumor a few years ago. He worked on his last album, with the help of his friends, right up until he died.

He wrote the song “Poor Pitiful Me” and then he moved on to singing about werewolves and teenagers.

I went home and apologized. Colin isn’t going to make bagels at Bruegger’s. But he will mow the lawn. All summer. Every summer, until he can hire someone else to.

And Katy can take out library books. Paperback library books. One at a time.

I don’t have a brain tumor. I do have a house, a husband, two kids who love me most of the time, and quite a few plans for the future. So I guess, what I’m trying to say, though I’m not sure I am all the way there yet, is that

Things aren’t all that bad.

And there is always the possibility that tomorrow will be amazing. It seems distant right now, but it’s there.

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