The Monday Blues

 

How will Irene, accustomed to Chicago, do in Texas?
And what trouble will she find?
I'm working on it.

After several futile tries to sleep in late—Sophie was not cooperating—I finally got up and going. This is lazy talk, but I always welcome a day when I’m not going anywhere and don’t have to wash my hair in the morning. Added bonus: no kitchen to clean up, dishes to put away because no one ate dinner here last night. I am usually anxious to get to my computer and see what the email brings. Sometimes I think it’s a hangover from that TV show, “The Millionaire.” A little part of me still expects to find something wonderful in the morning’s email, not necessarily a million dollars, but something wonderful.

It was after nine before I got to my desk--and my computer told me the temperature was a chilly 53. Confession: I turned on the heat, just for a bit to take the chill out of the air. I have those wall-hung, compartmentalized heating and a/c units so it’s not a big deal to switch briefly to heat. And none of that smell we used to get when we turned on the heat for the first time in the fall. I thought low fifties justified a bit of heat.

This morning I worked like a house afire, writing new portions and editing some existing words on the Irene and Texas manuscript. Felt foolishly proud of myself. In the late morning I boiled some eggs, thinking I’d make an egg salad sandwich and have two eggs left for Jordan who eats a hardboiled egg for breakfast. She buys them already boiled and shelled, which I insist is an invitation for bacteria. I did a Central Market order today—bless Jacob for picking it up—but they didn’t have already boiled eggs. She’ll just have to shell the ones I did for her.

But all of a sudden, I realized I wasn’t hungry. In fact, egg salad didn’t sound good to me. I had skipped my morning cottage cheese, so I thought I’d have that. But weariness washed over me, and I wasn’t sure I could stay upright long enough to put away the eggs and things I’d gotten out and close up the cottage so Soph and I could nap. I managed to do it, ate a little cottage cheese, and crawled into bed. I am fairly certain the problem was that I forgot to take my lactaid pills last night before I ate, of all things, sour cream enchiladas. A good reminder that my sometimes-fleeting lactose intolerance hasn’t yet fled. After two-plus hours sleep, I was back “at myself.” Probably would have slept longer, but the yard guys came, and Sophie as always was compelled to defend us with fierce and constant barking. I got up and ate more cottage cheese—my go-to comfort food. And yes, I took the lactaid.

Due to Jacob’s golf and my miscalculation, it was almost eight before we had supper, and I was ravenous. Cleaned my plate. Christian fixed chicken piccata, which is one of his best dishes—he gets a really good lemon sauce--and I had made a bean salad. But I’d found a new potato recipe and wanted to try it. It basically called for cutting small red potatoes in half scoring them, and then cooking, cut side down, in butter, Parmesan, and seasonings. But instead of small, I got those teeny-tiny potatoes—that size problem is one of the hazards of curbside pickup. I long to go to a grocery and pick my own vegetables! Anyway, despite all the laughs, we each had four tiny halves, and it proved enough. I couldn’t see that they were all that better than ordinary potatoes.

So I’ve now spent the evening being a good citizen. I am reading essays for Story Circle Network’s Lifewriting competition, essays about starting over. It’s so hard to be objective, because the women who write these pieces really put their hearts into telling what to them is a life-changing story. You’d be surprised—or maybe you wouldn’t—at how many of the stories begin with divorce as the trigger for life changes. As judges, we were warned against scoring too generously, but I fear that’s where I fall.

I did several of those and moved on to formatting letters to registered voters on behalf of Beto for governor. It’s important, and I’m glad to do it, but it is mind-numbing work. The campaign provides the basic letter and the addresses. I must fill in, in my own words, why I think voting is especially important in this cycle. I found the campaign formatting left something to be fixed, but I have finally worked out a system and can do them fairly rapidly. I suspect I did half my bunch. Now I need to find people with better handwriting than mine to address the envelopes. I have my eye on Jordan and Christian.

Whoosh! What a day! I’m tired!