“I have so many things to do this weekend,” I smugged to my neighbors. We have dinner most Fridays at the nearby Mexican restaurant, and last Friday was so warm that we ate outside. I dipped 3040403202 enormous chips into salsa repeatedly, because I was starved and also it was delicious.
My plans for the weekend included viewing more videos and doing the writing assignments my life coach had given me (done).
Planting the 12 baby trees I got free after filling out a survey from the Arbor Day foundation (done).
Marie Kondo-ing my stuff (NOT DONE).
Reading my book and not staring at the internet instead (done).
Laundry (done. Also, why I gotta have so many clothes?).
Note all of these plans involve zero people. Because if I were a band, I’d be Herman’s Hermits. If I were a crab (hah), I’d be a Hermit Crab. I am Hermit the Frog. If I were towels, I wouldn’t be the His towel, I’d be Her(mit)s.
But the thing is, as we ate outside and enjoyed the spring warmth and also pollen, we started talking about cool things to do in town, and by the time dinner was done, I was obsessed with the idea of going to this cute new French restaurant for breakfast Saturday, and then also too going to this parking lot where everyone brings his or her old car and there’s also coffee.
So then when I woke up Saturday I was completely overwhelmed and paralyzed with indecision. Clean the house as I normally do? Go to the French place? Head to the car lot? Read? Start the planting?
I also had freelance work to do, because as you may know, seeing as you have in your possession a giant Book of June Events, I am having a fence put up and need to pay for it.
I have put up a little sidebar thing with the price of said fence, and as I pay it down I will alert you to that. As it stands now I have paid nothing toward my fence. But what I did do was ask around at places I’ve freelanced for in the past, and as luck would have it, there was a several-month project just getting started and I already have the beginning of that work.
The point is, on Saturday morning,
I OVERWHELMED SELF
with all the what-should-I-do choices.
I remember my college boyfriend’s roommate having a terrible poster that read: Choices. And the choices were a hot girl, beer and a car. Probably a Corvette. Because does that not sound like a Corvettte-centric poster? Anyway that was me, only my choices were way less enticing than a girl, who apparently counts as an object, with a round buttockal region.
So, you know what they say: When in doubt, make a smoothie. I realize no one has ever actually said that. But that’s what I did, because this diet I’m allegedly on requires me to make a smoothie every day, and as I was spinning around Saturday morning trying to figure out what to do first, a UPS delivery came with my new protein powder, so I said, Well, there’s a sign.
Let me tell you what: My last tub of protein powder always tasted a little fishy, for no reason I could discern seeing as it did not have fish. But THIS powder? Mother of god. It was absurdly good.
I drank while I did a little housework, blowing off the actual leaving-of-the-house portion of my day. Once I was done with that, I opened the package that held my baby trees
And realized I’d have to soak the roots for many hours before planting. Don’t you hate that? It’s like the one time every 8 years that I cook, and I get all excited and buy the ingredients, and then they’re like, Marinate the stork meat for 9 hours first. Goddammit.
My trees came in this sort of goop, but not Gwyneth Paltrow Goop, that preserved them for shipping or something. I got out a big tub and soaked the roots like I was supposed to, then went inside and did other things on my list, which things are all a blur now, because
madre de Dios.
An hour or two after I drank that smoothie, I started to feel a bit peckish. My stomach was roiling a bit. It was Roil Rogers. And soon I was looking Pale Evans. Then? I was Triggered.
One thing I can say to you is I feel more intimately involved with my bathroom now. I mean, we really got to spend quality time together this weekend. And here’s the rub: I’d already started the soak-the-roots portion of my tree planting. I couldn’t let a dozen baby trees die just because I was Helen Hurley Brown.
So I’d mince out to the yard, dig a hole shakily, plant the poor baby tree who never hurt anyone,
then rush inside to explode with flavor.
When I was finally done planting the trees, I hunched weakly onto one of my lawn chairs, like Barbara Hershey at the beach.
Oh, I felt awful. Not so awful that I didn’t take time out of my pressing schedule to weigh self. Lost a pound! Silver lining!
I also took the time to contact every one of my friends to announce the State of My Bowels.
I never really got better and I still don’t know whether to blame the Mexican food or the smoothie. Someone told me salsa is often a culprit and I reflected on the salsa FEST I had Friday. Either way, everything I’ve consumed has left the building, so.
On Sunday I did finally leave The Hermitage to hang with Chris and Lilly awhile. They own a feed store, but they also too own a greenhouse. They can walk to their many many greenhouses right from their regular house, which is sort of brown.
Going to Chris and Lilly’s is like taking a small vacation.
That was the wknd. The only other noteworthy event is that Milhous seems obsessed with water, and he’s taught himself to turn on the faucet and then have a shower, and I don’t know why I never get any sedate cats, other than Lily, who I guess is sedate enough to cover the entire category and that is why I keep getting…spirited felines.
I will keep you POSTED on the fence. Don’t PICKET this blog. Don’t make this fencegate.