Litany of Complaints

This afternoon I was working at my desk when my chair collapsed

and I fell to the floor and whacked my head.  You might think the chair couldn’t handle my frequent trips to Sugar Mama’s, but actually I just have a really cheap chair.  Also, this morning I was talking on the phone to McGinn, and right in the middle of a litany of complaints I tilted way back and tossed my legs up on my desk and then I fell over backwards.

I’ve fallen twice today, and it’s not even time for dinner yet.

There’s an unauthorized hardcover version of my novel for sale on Amazon.  You can buy it for $167.65, but I can’t guarantee what you’ll find inside.

The Boy has reached new levels of boredom.  What’s the next fun thing we’re doing today? he asks when the door shuts behind his most recent playdate, and when I tell him nothing, that FUN hasn’t made the afternoon agenda, his wails echo in our now-empty-of-all-rugs-house-because-the-dogs-have-eaten-all-three.

I was just telling friends on Saturday night that I’ve been very lucky that my husband hasn’t traveled very much this year.  Instead he had surgery and I’ve taken to calling our bedroom “the sick room.”  And then this morning I opened my email and found two notifications of heretofore unannounced trips, one of which my husband will be taking the day The Boy returns to school after his six and a half month hiatus.  Because this is what I need.  To handle on my own the possibility that The Boy might balk at even this amazing school.

Also, my husband and I made plans over the weekend to take a little vacation next month, to see my brother and his goat in Southampton, and my father in Pennsylvania.  And today I called to make arrangements to board the beasts while we’re gone.  Guess how much the vet wants to board the dogs for ten days?

$660.  To board the dogs.  Because we have so many.  Because I keep adopting them.

I haven’t told my husband yet, but I think he might suggest drowning them all in the jacuzzi tub instead.

I keep getting requests to meet my friends for wine and coffee and I mostly have to tell everyone no.  Or worse, I say sure, and then I cancel on them at the last minute.  Because apparently spinal fusion is a more serious surgery than I thought and my husband isn’t ready to handle The Boy on a daily basis, not after working a full day or even a half day at the office.  And The Boy has become very cranky indeed and has taken to talking aloud to his stuffed animals when he thinks I’m not watching.

Last week The Boy and his playdate were hanging out in the living room and chatting while I was in the kitchen and they seemed to be under the impression that I couldn’t hear them even though I was, like, five feet away.  All my mom does, The Boy told his friend, Is stare at her laptop.  Yeah, the playdate said, commiserating.  Sometimes I have to say her name two or three times before she even looks up, The Boy continued.  Uh-huh, said the playdate.  And half the time, The Boy confided, She’s on Facebook.

Not true!  I swear.

My people were not meant to live in this climate.  I’m quite certain.  And yet here I live, in Austin, Texas, where the temperature is currently 100 degrees and there’s not a cloud in the goddamn sky.  I walk outside and my eyes narrow like I’m staring into a spotlight.  All the back and forth and back and forth between the 100 degree heat and the cool cool cool temperature of my house makes me feel kind of like I want to throw up.  And every afternoon I have a headache.  At night I picture the earth turning away from the sun and I think, can’t we just face this way for a little while longer?

The heat stress face-time nurse-time lack of space is getting to me.  Just last week I told my friend April that we should meet at Alamo Drafthouse and we bought tickets ahead of time and I drove all the way across the river during rush hour traffic and then when I got to the ticket counter I discovered that I’d gone to the wrong theater.  And the previous week I told April I’d watch her daughter one morning and then I double-booked and I didn’t even discover my error until April texted me the night before to ask if we were still on. And we weren’t, because I’d double-booked.

I used to alphabetize my spices, people.  I used to have my shit together.  I was in control.

Maybe this is the new me.

Silence.  Darkness.  Cold.  This is what I’m craving.  But I’m trying to be super specific because I don’t want the universe to get confused and think I’m talking about a tomb.

That’s all I’m going to write for now.  Partly because I have to go pick up The Boy from his playdate and I totally forgot to chop the stupid potatoes for dinner and I don’t have time to make them now because I’m heading to BookPeople to see Sarah Bird read from her new novel, The Gap Year

but also because I’ve been writing my blog post in this chair because my other chair broke

and now my lap is really fucking hot.

Copyright 2011  Jennifer Hritz  hritzontheedge  All Rights Reserved