Odds & Ends #17
Some Friday night reflections:
My moon’s in Asparagus tonight. What a wild and wacky week.
We’ve got a poodle-headed dementia patient running the nation, and a buffoon challenging him for the top spot. Someone’s taking a big L here, and that someone is America. Like Bruce Springsteen sang, “I ain’t nothing but tired.” Or “Tres fou!” as Melina would say, and does, when we watch the news.
Work is ramping up. I’ve got big stuff coming down the pike, but I’m up for it. Next week is going to be a boot in the arse, so I’m flexing and stretching and doing my high-kicks this weekend getting ready for it.
My rescue work is going pretty well. We had a scare this week; nobody wants to euthanize a little furry coconut ball for aggression towards people, but I think we’ve found a solution that will save the little feller and provide some relief for his foster parents. But, guys, hard decisions. My heart hurt so much as we were sorting it out.
I’m turning 50 in a couple of weeks, and I have no idea what to do with that milestone, but I plan to celebrate. What would you guys do? Gonna have to sail the high seas and do something crazy to mark the event, I’m thinking, but I don’t have a clue. “Nothing can be sadder than a glass of wine alone,” and all that.
But I have Melina for four more months — she is the best! She made me dinner tonight: spinach, mushrooms and egg. It was something she made up, and it was delicious — even more so because she was taking care of me after the week I’ve had. I’m so blessed to have her in my life — someone to take care of and who takes care of me.
Apropos of nothing, as I told my head-shrinker this morning, I’ve been thinking of anger all week. (Not mine; I’m as mild-mannered as a lamb. I’ve worked hard to become that way. Melina told me the other day, “I’ve never seen you angry — except when you’re driving.” I cackled. She didn’t know me when I broke my toe kicking my dad’s hard-cased briefcase because I was throwing a fit.) But I’m actually kind of proud of myself for kicking that trait on its ass by the time I’m 50. Doesn’t mean I don’t ever get angry. I do. But I put it in its place. I have a brother who gets super-angry at stuff. I imagine his stomach hurts all the time. That’s not for me. As I like to tell Angry People, “You have a wonderful opportunity here to not care about something that doesn’t matter. Please don’t miss out on it.”
So am I happy with where I’m at as a soon-to-be 50yo? I think so. I’m out of shape, grey-haired and have a zit on my chin like I’m a teenager, but I think I’m gonna make it after all.
