After a wonderful couple of days off, my Monday was, as my Mom would say, "interesting".
It was early morning. I had to be in my expensive midnight blue "court suit" so I could perhaps help win one for the good guys today.
I stepped out into the drive to the truck where I'd left it. The air was calm, the east was still grey, but it will soon burst forth in crimson garb any moment, the sky suddenly red with the firing, the burst of sun, before it finally, after hours of heat and volley, marches back into the West, wearily but not defeated. Overhead I hear the sound, the sound, a winged formation of geese performing their own maneuvers in grey, laying the field for a retreat from winter. I stopped in the drive to look up and admire them, the precision, the form, the beauty. Honk Honk!
What I actually said was CAC! (you may need to brush up on your Gaelic).
I know a fair bit about blood spatter, such as the greater the height from which a drop falls, the more it will spray out in a star-like shape. Let me tell you, blood has NOTHING on goose crap from 50 feet.
The jacket was going to have to go to the cleaners, probably the pants as well. I had no choice but to change into my only other clean suit, the "oh we are so going to lose" brown one. I'm not saying it was ugly or out of date, but. . .
One of those stops was the car wash to get rid of the goose spatter. The bat truck was ever so shiny as I pulled out onto the road.
Honk honk honk! No, I hadn't cut anyone off.
Damnú ort geese!
Day's like these it's just best to go work out and get rid of some stress. I usually do 90 minutes with a personal trainer on Thursday, repeating the reps on my own on Saturday, but why not go to the gym tonight.
The geese were nowhere in sight.
The last stop, the grocery store. As I enter the store, I see an older gent with a beard and a cane having trouble with one of the powered carts. It looked like he'd had knee surgery, so I figured he was new to the carts. I stopped and helped him, telling him I'd had to use one recently and then, with a conspiratorial wink said "don't go too fast, they track your activities".
I lost him in the Tampax aisle.
Quick! To the parking lot!
Honk! Oh good, I just cut someone off. There's the finger! Wave!
But you know, as I headed inside I thought to myself -no one ever said being a grown-up was easy. There are machines and body parts that break, usually resulting in more bills to add to the bills you already get just by existing. There's dealing with other people and man's general nature to evoke religion or politics to justify what their ego or glands insisted upon no matter the outcome. There are battles and defeat and then there is glory.
But isn't it better to get out there as you are, to take chances, to fight, then to sit home on the couch, living on the sweat of the taxpayer or simply your own inertia, until nothing is left of you but silent, sentient meat that knows not the difference between trial and triumph?
So for me, I'll get up, get out, get dirty, get bloody and occasionally make a complete fool out of myself. Then I will come home with a smile, for I have lived. Then I can simply sit with those two souls that share this house that love me and tell them everything (even if one of them looks at me like "Blah Blah LORELEI, Blah Blah LORELEI).
Sometimes being a grown-up is hard. But as I sit here, my furry pal by my side and Partner in Grime on the way home, even if late, I realize the rewards are worth it.