But There’s A Hole In My Bucket
By Ann Brown
I cannot remember why I came into this room but since the computer is in here, it must have been to do something on the computer.
And now I cannot remember what it was that I needed to do on the computer so I figured I may as well write a blog post.
Only I cannot remember what it was that I wanted to write about.
I’ll just sit here and wait. I need to hide out from Mom, anyway.
You know how you go along in your life thinking that you are pretty normal, doing normal shit, living a relatively normal lifestyle and then your 88-year-old mother shows up and it hits you that, compared to her, your life possesses all the vim and vigor of an end-stage hospice patient? Don’t you just hate when that happens?
Granted, I have an injured knee right now. And granted, there’s the whole “I am so tired because of Phila” thing. And my finger is still broken. But Mom is kicking my ass.
Take this morning, for instance. She has been up since 7 – after miraculously being able to fall back asleep following an unfortunate 5AM hallway run-in with Robin who was letting Phila out to pee, and Mom was going to pee, and Robin was Very Extremely Naked. Hah. There were some screams coming outta that hallway this morning that I have never heard. Mostly from Robin. I think Mom just pretended it was a Cossack pogrom, shut her eyes, hid in the basement and waited for the Russian Revolution. That’s what I do when I see Robin naked.
Or maybe Mom thought there was a bear in our kitchen. The way Robin was holding his, er, flopping salmon and all.
Anyway, Mom has been up since 7. She has showered, coiffed, dressed, eaten breakfast and is now waiting for the 417 grams of fiber in her toast to kick in. ETA of her morning poop: approximately Wednesday. Waiting for her morning poop is Mom’s cross to bear.
Sadly, the ONLY area in which I am faster than Mom is my digestion.
I slogged out of bed a few minutes ago and stood in the kitchen. Nothing came to me – no plans, no ideas, no coffee – so I came here, into my office. To the computer. So when Mom comes upstairs again it will look like I had something to do. I think I am going to tell her I am working on my novel.
No, who am I kidding? NOBODY believes that anymore.
I will tell her I am booking a Pap smear with my gyno.
Which, come to think of it, is something I need to do.
And planned to do.
Which is why I came into my office.