So, my RSS feed is not working. Why? I don’t know. But I suspect that the weather has something to do with it.
Yesterday, I was so hot that I was annoyed at the cellular level. I had a small nervous breakdown because of it. I got home from work, planning to eat something and turn on my AC and then go out and do errands. I sat down to pay some bills, and promptly realized that I had managed, somewhere in the move, to misplace my checks.
“OK, no big deal,” I thought. “Meg helped me unpack. She probably put them somewhere.”
I was already online, so I IMed my Mom.
Meglet is on her way back to the West Coast, she IMed. But I am here!
BUT WHERE ARE MY CHECKS! I typed back.
Are you having a hormonal episode? She replied.
Well, maybe, come to that. But whatever. I was in full freak-out now. I actually called my sister and left a message on her cell phone, knowing full well that she couldn’t pick up. My voice, by this time, was a little unsteady. OK, I sounded like Crispin Glover.
“M-e-e-e-g … hi. This is … ahhhh. I’m wondering? If you’ve seen my checks? When you unpacked? I’m feeling a little crazy right now. Also, it’s hot out. OK. Hope you had a good flight. Love you. Bye.”
By this time, I was pacing. This is pretty hard to do when you live in a studio apartment. It was more like shifting from foot to foot. I decided to call my Mom.
“I’ve lost my checks and I can’t find them anywhere and I don’t know what to do.”
“Oh, sweetie. Look. I’m sure they’re there, and even if they’re not, you can just order new ones.”
“But I lost my checks!”
“And … you can order new ones.”
Whispering: “But I’m not the kind of person who loses checks.”
Mom laughed. “Everyone is the kind of person who loses checks. One time? I lost my credit card. Everyone loses things. It’s just a fact of life.”
“But someone could be out there right now, writing checks under my name! Buying drugs and porno and trips to Europe!”
“Well, since I’m sure they’re in your drawer, and you’ll find them just as soon as you get your new checks, I’m not too concerned.”
We wound up talking for about two hours, and eventually, I stopped twitching. I’m not sure what people do who don’t have nice Moms, but I’m pretty sure they need lots more therapy than even the average person. Moms are the best. (But mine is better than yours.)