Mouth open in surprise, I glanced at Friend, seated in the passenger seat as we returned from getting dinner, and expected her to share my outrage. When she didn’t seem to be reacting strongly enough, I emphasized each syllable as I raised my voice. “Li-Tter-Bug!”
“Must you yell?” She asked. “I didn’t throw trash on the street. My ears don’t deserve to hurt.”
“I hate people who litter. It’s a problem down here! All the time with the picking up other people’s trash, which is ridiculous! The other day I found a Bratz poster in my front yard. I don’t need to see that! It freaked me out every time I opened the garbage can – those big-eyed, skimpily-dressed cartoons pouting at me. Not cool.”
“You’re more upset about the littering than the fact that they threw a half-full beer bottle out of a moving truck?”
I narrowed my eyes as I felt hatred grow toward the four idiots in the gray pickup truck. “I should call the police.” I muttered. “They are endangering others and ruining the environment! They are what’s wrong with this country! Stupid southern, stupid boys.” I hissed growing more upset.
I don’t really have a point, other than making myself all angry again. Every time I look out at the stray cups or random bits of trash scattered around my curb, I get angry. And, apparently, you don’t want to hear me when I’m angry.
As temperatures rapidly approach 90° this morning (oh, so hot. Nearly unbearable.), I am content to drink coffee from one of my new mugs. I’m not sure if I’ve achieved genius status, but I do think the design is ever-so-pretty in person. I’m going to take one (I ordered 4) to work and I’m sure people will think I’m cooler just seeing me use it.
I really do like the designs – it’s giving me considerable happiness to have the set of new mugs from which to sip my coffee in the mornings.
One hundred pages of my novel are scattered across my living room floor. Sprout loves to surf on them and he is so happy to have pages and pages of text on which to slide across the pesky carpeting.
He deserves a reward. I was jealous that Friend’s felines were such good bug warriors, and when I saw a moth flitting around the glow of the television last night, I sighed. Where was my cat? Why didn’t he kill the gross, scary moths?
I’d barely finished the thought when he sprang across the room, batting the creature to the ground and attempting to play. I didn’t watch what happened next, but the moth is no more. Good kitty.
Chienne, conversely, is not enjoying life so much. I went out to twist off the hose that was trickling water to the tomato plant and turned to find a brindle head poking out the dog door.
“Are you coming out?” I asked her. “It’s not that hot yet.” But she disappeared back into the coolness of our abode. Poor thing – I’ve raised her to be intolerant of temperatures such as these. When she must exit the controlled climate inside, she inevitably returns with a look of annoyance as she pants. Flopping on the floor with a sigh, the dog and I share extreme displeasure as we suffer through summer.
The night before last, Chienne woke me just before midnight. It is, I thought, likely not good that I can be sleeping deeply enough at 11:40 that I wonder if it should be 2 or 3AM. Regardless, I sighed at her and wandered down the hall to read blogs until I could relax again.
Bloglines suddenly stopped giving me new text and my wireless signal had disappeared.
“Stupid router.” I groused, heading to the office to cycle the power to return my contact with the outside world. I returned moments later to find the receive light blinking rather than all of the lights happily lit.
“Oh, no.” I said softly. I unplugged it again, waiting longer this time, then returned power to the small device. It continued to lack the ability to give me internet and I blinked with worry.
I turned to the television to provide a distraction from my internet woes and the cable thwarted me there too. And I was sad.
I woke yesterday morning to a strong internet signal and all sorts of channels to watch. But it left me feeling rather grateful for the overall stability of the grid out here. I rarely lose power and this was the first time cable let me down. Thank goodness. I don’t cope well at all.
There’s a small chance I sometimes overreact.
“He said the bend was OK, but they should be going much straighter than they are.” Mom reported of her meeting with her knee surgeon yesterday morning. “He wants to give me braces to wear at night to encourage them to straighten, and if they don’t get better in a couple weeks, he wants me to go back to the hospital so they can knock me out and force them straight. I said the braces were fine, but I was not going back to the hospital.”
“Good for you.” I praised – we’d talked about this before.
“I don’t come out of anesthesia well at all and I’ll get them straight eventually. He’s not messing with me again. I could end up worse off than I am now. I certainly didn’t end up better off after I went in before.” She pouted.
“They’ll get better eventually.” I tried to soothe.
“He just stared at me when I told him.” She reported with some degree of pride. “But I was firm. I’m not going in the hospital. He can’t make me.”
So Mom’s knees are doing relatively well, though she is to work on getting them straighter. And she will not be returning to the hospital. I miss her – she reminds me of me.