That's a slightly but not entirely misleading title. This week has been a bizarre series of spikes and lulls in stress (especially bizarre given that it's June and there is NOTHING going on around here).
First, there was the gas bill debacle earlier this week. I kind of flipped out about that. But it turns out that now I only owe $30.39; the woman I spoke to today tried to explain about transposed numbers and misrecorded data, but her explanation didn't at all account for the crazy bill. Whatever. I don't owe $400. I'm happy.
Then, I thought I lost my flash drive. This wouldn't be a real disaster or anything, but on Wednesday I wrote three or four really good (or so I thought at the time; we'll see) pages of a transitional section between chapters and, since I was in my office, just saved them onto the flash drive. I was in a bit of despair...and then I found it tangled up in the cord of my fan near the desk. I don't know how it got there.
There was something else. Oh yes. My insurance company told me that my financial institution doesn't exist. That was alarming. But it turns out that I just copied down the zip code wrong when I gave the insurance company the address. No problem.
(I know that there was a fourth thing, too, but I seem to have blocked it.)
So everything is okay--except for a very small medical-type thing that WebMD assures me will most likely go away on its own, but I really hate this kind of thing and it alarms and discomfits me. But I just need to not do any more Google image searches of this particular thing, because it (predictably) provides some pretty horrifying worst case scenarios. I've been down that road before, with all kinds of ailments that I had or didn't have, and I really don't need to do it again.
In retrospect, none of these items seems particularly alarming. At all. Perhaps it's because it's June and there's nothing going on that I'm totally blowing them out of proportion? D'you think?
But in the meantime I have had some pretty nice moments. Just last night, for instance, I got the sprinkler working on my garden and lawn (both are, if not thriving, at least surviving, and may actually do what I want them to do) and finally fulfilled my dream: I lay in my cheap lawn recliner (bought, I am ashamed to say, at CVS) and drank a leisurely beer while reading a Margaret Drabble novel. In the meantime some of the many many neighbor children* frolicked in my drive and, somewhere behind me, the high school band struck up its summertime practicing. I have also learned that a very small bunny lives in my yard; I've now seen it three or four times, and I can get a good look because it's always too scared to run away. (My garden has been fenced in with chicken wire, so I'm hoping that we can cohabit in peace.)
Work has been sporadic, but this week I worked (some) on a couple of chapters and figured out the sequence of primary texts for my upper-level seminar. Pretty much just plugging away. It's nice to read freely these days; summer is good for that.
*Okay. Seriously. I live in Reproductive Ground Zero. Next door: three girls (under 12). Other next door: three girls (under 12). In the Big House where my new landlords live, and on whose property my house stands: FIVE children under 15.** Behind me: at least one child; I haven't quite figured them out. So, for those of you who are counting, that is a minimum of 12 children within a one-house radius.
**The four-year-old boy seems to have taken an interest in me; yesterday, for instance, when I stepped outside to ask his mom something, he charged at me and flung his arms around my legs in this truly adorable hug. It almost made me reconsider the witch persona I'd been thinking about cultivating, here in my storybook cottage, surrounded by tempting (and yet noisy) children.... But not entirely.