I searched my friend’s and acquaintances blogs for an idea for something to write about today, and I didn’t find anything I really wanted to write about. Then I went all mental. I searched my brain for something worth writing about and had the idea, from somewhere, to write a top 10 list of things I’m thankful for. It’s hellish torture, honestly. I hate it at Thanksgiving when things aren’t all that great for me, that I have to think of one thing as we go around the table, because it’s tradition. Ugh.
Who am I kidding? I don’t have any real friends. They’re plastic, they pretend to like me, they’re worried about me, they lie and say they’ll pray for me or some other platitudinous shit about how I’m supposed to think positively, or I’ve pushed them away because frankly, who wants to hang around a guy-bitch? Or who knows, maybe they really will pray for me. If I say I’ll pray, I do it, and praying for other people seems to have a greater impact than praying for myself. Remember when I wrote the post about how fucking positive I was about the coffee and the ant? I haven’t seen any more ants around my house, which is a good thing because I tend to overreact to shit, when shit happens, which it does every day, but especially on Monday. Monday sucks for so many reasons. Maybe I should write that, but I feel contrary, which is why, since this is Monday, I’ve decided to follow my inner muse’s amusing advice, and write that damn list. This should be hilarious, to me if to no one else. Or torture. Or both. Maybe I’m a masochist.
10- I worked my ass off all weekend and lived to tell about it. I was playing in my dad’s yard, which is my kiddish euphemism for mowing an acre of meadow-lands with a push mower. I actually finished it in time for Fathers’ Day. I was playing in my yard too, but mine is sensibly smaller. I pruned a tree, pulled thistles, scratched the fuck out of my hand, got a developing callus (translate that as a blister, but it doesn’t hurt at all, so I expect that will heal.
9- It didn’t rain while I was doing said yard-work. Thank God. And it was partly-cloudy all day, so dumb me without any sunscreen didn’t char-broil myself in the sun.
8- None of the neighbors made small talk with me to delay my progress. I love my neighbors by command, but please don’t make me talk to them. Remember Saturday Night Live’s Sprockets? At the end of the “show,” Michael Myer’s character usually said “I find your conversation dull and boring.” A greeting is sufficient. You saw me, we waved, I went back to work, that’s enough social interaction for one day. To quote the brilliant Peter Capaldi (is it ok if I fan-boy a little?) as his beloved (by me) character Malcolm Tucker, “I’ve come across a lot of pyschos, but none as fucking boring as you.” “Yeah, OK, Fuckity-Bye.” And the more precise, “Fuck off.”
7- I finished the yards without dehydration or heart attack or any other health issues. That’s code for “it’s Monday and my body wants to remind me that I’m too old for that kind of shit. My body agrees with my wife, that I should be rich enough by now to hire some peasant to do the work for me and not do it myself. And frankly, I agree with my body. Why the fuck AREN’T I filthy rich yet?
6- Fathers’ day came and the wife gave me a present. But damn it, not the present I wanted. I wanted a certain favorable treatment. I thought I wanted her to tell me she loved me and appreciated my ongoing companionship without using words, you know? But no. Instead she brings me a gift bag with a few household chores and projects in it. Fuck me, but I’m quite sure that I wanted to snake out the fucking sink-drain! And I’m also really sure I wanted to tear out old, and hang new, electrical fixtures. Mmm Hmmm. So it’s me who’s being non-verbal.
5- I cleaned out the drain successfully without having to dismantle the whole assembly or call a plumber. In my previous misadventures I have developed a certain phobia of any wet or leaky pipe that isn’t my appendage. I have called a plumber on more than two occasions after botching my own repair work. I have had a few successes like this, but I still heartily dislike doing my own plumbing if you know what I mean. It’s much better and more fulfilling to have someone else handle my plumbing for me, hon! And preferably, with no hands.
4- I tore out the old light fixtures and installed the new electrical fixtures without electrocuting myself to death. We have yet to verify they actually work because they are on some kind of light sensor or timer or something. I didn’t go check them when they were supposed to come on, but here’s hoping.
3- For Father’s Day, my kids were, by and large, properly respectful. That’s cause for celebration. Most days there is a characteristic murmuring when they are asked to do stuff, or the complaint they’ve hurt something (arm, leg, foot, kidney, eye, toenail, feelings…) as a convenience to not have to get off their asses and do what we’ve asked. I’ve come to expect a certain amount of eye-rolling, the sigh of absolute contempt, the excuses of self-entitlement, the claims (usually false) of having something more important that they are doing right now. “I’m in the bathroom” is the only qualified “more important” immediate task, in my book. But one brought me cold water while installing said electrical monster-fixtures, and one even took the time to hold the light while I dealt with the tangle of wires. Thank God for wires with color coding or I might have either electrocuted myself, or burned down the house. Now, if there were only hand-held remote control devices that would induce my wife and children to do what I want, on Father’s Day or any other day of the year. Especially my wife…
2- The house did not burn down, which leads me to believe that the new fixtures might actually work. I’ll have to go out tonight after sundown to see their illuminating glory. And not the blazing glory of a house afire. That would have made a really shitty end to my Father’s Day “festivities.” My wishes notwithstanding, I also did not get a festive or flirtatious look from my wife at the end of the day, but rather a weary, mumbled, “I’m going to bed,” which to her means “I’m going to sleep.” When she says this, there is a ‘Please do not disturb.’ sign hanging over her eyelids, and I’d damn well better not. I didn’t win, but she isn’t filing for divorce. I guess that means I did enough stuff over the weekend.
1- It’s Monday, and I’m not working as hard as I did this weekend. It’s not “rest,” but it isn’t manual labor either. As much as I hate Mondays, all it takes is a really busy, shitty weekend to put it into perspective. If I worked my ass off, I wonder if that means I’m losing weight. I could drop a few pounds. If I did lose weight, that’d be #11. But I doubt it.