7.5.14 What Day is it Again?

Today is a lost day to me … a day without a name that seems to be tossed randomly in the order of the regular week.  It is one of those days that feels like it doesn’t have a place because I lost a day driving home from our vacation.  Einstein once wisely said, “I love to travel, but I hate to arrive.”  And I know why!  Getting home is not the, “Ahh, we’re home,” that it should be, it’s more like, “Oh my God, what happened here while we were out?”  

One thing I’ll never understand is how a house can get so filthy when no one is home!  I swear it was one mess after another.  First we were greeted by a scene mimicking the wild west, little pet-hair tumble weeds drifting past our feet while swirls of dust clouds seemed to raise up off the surfaces of every counter.  When we went outside, I kid you not, there were weeds the size of small trees that needed to be hacked down.  After grocery shopping and trying to get organized, we realized that our ice-dispenser froze up so that trying to get ice out resulted in an avalanche of compacted frost-shavings.  

Working through all the little glitches after having not been on a timeline anyway made the day more random.  Walking out of the grocery store, I literally had to ask myself what day it was and go backwards in my mind to figure it out.  Not to fear, I realized it was Saturday eventually, and thanked God I had one more day to look forward to of the weekend to get myself back on track.  I should just embrace the thinking of Caskie Stinnett who said, “I travel a lot; I hate having my life disrupted by routine.”  But I have found that without a routine I’m a complete scatter-brained mess. There’s something to be said for calendars, planners and iphone alerts … I think I’d forget my own birthday without them.  

Exhausted and spent, my husband and I curled up on our king-sized bed with our two kids (they didn’t have any trouble remembering it was Saturday, the day they get to sleep in mom and dad’s bed).  While we lay there with a book to read, my son said, “It’s nice to be home.”  Sweet, but in my near-delirium of a chore-filled day following a sleepless night, I might actually disagree … the ocean seemed to be calling me back from the miles between us.  Dreaming of where I just came from seems a delightful escape to what I came home to, so, in the words of Chuck Palahniuk, “I’m sorry if this all seems a little rushed and desperate.  It is.”  So through sleep, I’m off to beach once more.

Literarily yours,

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