I am starting by glancing out the window every time I hear a loud truck noise just in case it’s the UPS man. I don’t even think I am expecting a package, but I have a very Pavlovian response to the sound of a UPS truck. Maybe whatever I forgot I ordered is finally here, or maybe someone thought of me and sent me a little treat. Usually, it’s neither of those, nor is the UPS truck for me. More likely, it’s for the neighbor across the street. I’m convinced something illegal is going on over there, based on the frequency of the UPS truck stopping in front of their house. The UPS man isn’t even hot; I am really in it for what’s in the truck.
After that, I inspect the front yard for colorful birds.
Today, it’s just a female cardinal, and not even male cardinals can get excited
about that fugly bitch of the animal kingdom. Dukey brown boring bird. If I
were a male cardinal, I’d be gay.
I also like to listen for the carpenter bees
systematically dismantling my downstairs window. I am waiting for the glass to
just fall out. Maybe the bee will shout “timber!” when it happens, and it is
going to happen soon. It’s the worst sound, too; that bee’s chewing through
wood sounds like children with loose teeth eating corn on the cob.
I next inspect my three flowering hydrangeas outside my
office window. My husband planted them for me last year, and wonder of wonders,
they have lived to see another season. Not only that, but they grew and have
actual flowers actually blooming on them. Unfortunately, the heat of summer is
making them all sad and droopy. I’m tempted to water them, but I’m also tempted
to stay inside the temperature controlled house all day. I wouldn’t want to
look like my hydrangeas.
In the other room, my teenager, E, is downloading music to
her new iPod. Her last one died about a week ago, and in a fit of generosity, I
offered to replace it. She’s especially bummed because whatever version she had
contained a camera, which the new one does not. No more selfies that no one
will ever see. I even spent an hour trying to find a refurbished Nano of that
generation for her, but to my amazement, it must be some sort of geek collectible
because it costs about fifty bucks more than a brand new one.
So I ordered her a new one. Did I mention it has an 8-pin
thingy instead of a 30-pin thingy? This means about as much to you as it does
to me, but the important part to understand is that it means none of the
chargers, cords, cables, or speaker docks that we currently own will work with
the new iPod. Brilliance on the part of Apple, as they continue to enslave all
of the music and phone call making people of the world along with the Chinese
child laborers who actually make their products.
She has the new iPod and is downloading music, one song
at a time, which requires her shouting out the name of the band or singer, then
playing it, then singing along with it, before finally downloading it to the
damn thing. She is two hours into the process and is only on the D’s. Do you
know how hard it is to concentrate when Teen Grandmaster Jazzy Fresh Princess is
mixing her favorite one thousand songs within earshot? Maybe I should rethink the no computers in the children's bedrooms rule.
I have a cat tail on my keyboard, which also makes writing
difficult. The minute I sit down to open my laptop, in walks one of my cats,
who likes to sit next to me while I work. He thinks he is my muse, but his incessant purring is very distracting, as is the way
he tries to fit between the desk drawer and my lap. After he gives up on
fitting his 14 pound cat body into a one inch space, he plops down on top of the
desk and flicks his tail on the keys, while simultaneously getting his head
stuck in the blinds and launching buckets full of unattached cat hairs in my general direction.
There is a fine blanket of stray fur stuck on my monitor, enough to make a
tiny sweater for, say, a chipmunk.
Writing isn’t easy.
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