It’s not even 10:30 in the morning and already I am DONE with TODAY, thank you very much.
It wouldn’t be so bad if PayPal wasn’t being so awful. I live for the day that company either becomes a public utility or we get a good challenger for its market share. Now, I honestly don’t blame the customer service department for being awful–they’re overworked and paid a mere pittance, and they’re doing the best they can. But the CEO and assorted higher-ups? I BLAME THEM, CERTAINLY.
Anyway. I shouldn’t be getting this irritated before coffee. It’s not good for anyone.
I find myself in a take-no-prisoners mood more and more lately. Probably a function of being over forty, and a further function of surviving since 2016. I’m reaching the stage of being the cranky old hermit on the mountaintop that young heroes visit to get the movie-ending Secret Ultimate Move. “Yeah, go do this, it’ll make you able to split rocks with your pinkie, now LEAVE ME ALONE, KID.”
Both dogs are staring intently at me, ready for walkies. I’m hopeful for some rain today, but it doesn’t seem possible according to the weather report. (And now I have a Sting song in my head.)
On the bright side, the clouds mean productivity, and that I might not have to water as much. The sprinklers aren’t on yet, because I know as soon as that’s done we’ll be inundated. I might as well just lug around the hose–which Boxnoggin is very excited over. If it gets much warmer he might be allowed to chase a high-powered jet of hosewater, his very favorite thing. He forgets he’s not a puppy and catches serious air; the dog is obsessed with H20 at high volume and speed.
Miss B, of course, decides to hide behind me every time I get the hose out, on the theory that’s the safest place. Which means I have to be careful while watering, in case I step back and trip over her, landing flat on my back.
It’s happened before. Then she stands over me with a puzzled look like, “Mum, what are you doing on the ground? That’s not quite proper.”
I’m in such a state I don’t even have the day’s work swirling inside my head. I need to figure out what Solveig and the Northerners come across when they leave the secret passage, and there’s a fun third-person omni POV to write in Hell’s Acre. But at least I have the music for the day–Sting and Dvorak, the latter played by Jacqueline du Pré.
Somehow, I’ll muddle through.
The “walkies nao” beams from the dogs are reaching epic proportions. I should probably attempt tying my shoes, slathering on some sunscreen, and getting out the door. Maybe it’ll even help my mood.
Happy Monday, beloveds. Get the baseball bat, I’ll grab the machete, and we’ll make today bend to our will.
Exeunt, trailed by an evil laugh…