Irritations and a little pleasure, too
I have not opened my email for days and days, and now I have this big fear of doing so. I have instead cut myself off of communication (which I am really good at doing sometimes) and crawled under a big heavy blanket, still attached to the oxygen leash, of course. I like to be in touch, yes, but I have an anxiety of phone communication for some reason- I've always never liked it. It's always seemed a waste of long periods of time. The phone is for quick plan-making, not ceaseless, never ending jibber because there's really not much to talk about. If you wanna talk, come and talk in person, is what I say. Mind you, on the other hand, phone calls from a long lost friend who I physically can't see in person so often are always lovely. I won't bite any one's head off for calling me on the phone, since that would also be physically impossible, wouldn't it? Now I've really done it, no one will call me 'cause I'm nasty or visit me 'cause I might bite their head off. But email, that's communication, except when I let it pile up over days. And I so much want to respond to everyone, which could take three hours or more today, time I have and shouldn't complain about, yes.
Can't you tell that I woke up a lump of a grump today? It's really true. I slept nearly until noon, which my mom has never let me do since high school. My dreams were too heavy to come out of. My aches and pains were pinging too much. Overall, my 99% level of sleepiness was too much to come out of to leap up and greet the dawn. I would be in my mostly asleep state and hear my mom's loud, authoritative clogs marching around the wood floors of our house and beg for them to not to come towards my door. Every fifteen minutes or so, she would clog up to my bedroom door and tell me to get out of bed, but I just couldn't rationalize why that would make any sense, since it felt so good lying in the warmth and comfort of my far away, obscure dreams. So the morning went like this- fifteen minutes of peaceful bliss and uninterruption to the dreaded sound of loud clogs and her banter, "Get UP! It's almost NOON!", back to fifteen minutes of peace, and so on.
A truce was made when she brought up a miracle custard and served me in bed, being I was being such a brat. "And you can go back to sleep after that for all I care," she said. I ate the custard, which is miracle because it was all I really felt like eating and it tasted splendid, and then let Moe-cat like the bowl. Then I turned on my heating pad and toasted awhile while listening to "A Prairie Home Companion." I only ever listened to this show in the past as background noise that my folks had turned on in the car. The voices then were all like how the adults talk on Charlie Brown, with Keillor's being very distinctive in tone, of course. But this morning I listened with undivided attention and he did indeed tell a story about ice fishing on Lake Wobegon and the annual church lutefisk dinner gone bad. There was some nice Gershwin music, played on the piano and sung, as well, and a sad ballad of Tom Wait's, sung by someone else, a woman, in fact. During this, my mother would intermittently interrupt me by bringing old junk of mine into my room to add to the junk mountains in my room. She has decided to clean out the attic, part of which is a small room with boxes of my old apartment stuff. Why she decided to open those old boxes and take out junk that I don't need right now and that won't fit in my small junk-heaped bedroom I don't know. Maybe she thinks these old things from my free past will be a pleasure. Really, though, it makes me groan to have more junk to add to the heaps. Pleasure, right now, is coming from listening to "A Prairie Home Companion" on the radio while toasting my back. It is a comfort, just like how my pillow is a comfort.
So now you know what irritates me, and a little bit about what I might call a pleasure. It will be a pleasure when my mom finally gets those slippers she wants for Xmas, and she won't have to clog about the house. I will more likely greet her with a smile, then.