In Which I Whine

This week the flux capacitor in my air conditioner went out, and I was down 2 lbs. of Freon. Whatever that means. I just write the checks and hand them to the nice repairmen. I think if I ever get married to have a man around the house, it will have to be to James Taylor. Get it? He sings a song called “Handyman”…? I thought it was funny.

Both outdoor spigots are broken. (Aside: I love the word “spigot.” I think I will name my next dog that.) Another section of fence is wobbling. In a snit, I thought about selling Chez Shasta and going back to apartment life, but I don’t think that’s for me anymore because my hammock won’t fit on a teeny balcony. Given the way that the market is here in Texas, even after selling, all I could afford to live in would be a storm drain.

Speaking of snits: I almost Johnny Paycheck-ed twice over the last few days. Last week I was in the my company's global marketing campaign with my red lipstick and all proud of it. But this week was very, very trying. Even though I would never do it, sometimes I indulge fantasies of being ballsy enough to walk off the job leaving a smoking crater where my cubicle used to be. But I was working from home this week, so my friend Anna wanted to know how that works:

“Do you just walk out your front door, or…?”

All is good, though. Life rolls along, and we learn from it as much as we can. I like to talk things over with God when I have weeks like this, because a lot of the time I my thoughts will start circling the drain. I feel guilty for complaining because I have a great life. When that happens, I need a good come-to-Jesus moment:

Me: Don’t you get tired of listening to me whine all the time?

Him: Behold, I Am the Lord God Almighty, creator of heaven and earth, all-powerful and all-knowing. My capacity for suffering is limitless.

Me: Touché, sir.