Two days back in the office… ok… technically one and a half days.
i appeared for only 4 hours on Monday, returning home to nap extensively late afternoon. After spending three glorious days perfecting “horizontal”, i’ve been annoyed with “vertical”. During the course of my forced convalescence for knee surgery, i’ve gotten in touch with my inner sluggard. In fact, she’s a bit of all right…
In perfect Trailer Park form, i’ve rediscovered some bad habits as well. Friday night, while drinking gin and tonic, eating girl scout cookies – feet propped up on pillows? i called The Boy, who was making a beer run, and said “what time ya coming back? Bring yer Momma some smokes, ‘k?”
i mean, if you’re going to be fucking off, watching tv and napping aggressively, a pack of Marlboro’s is a fundamental right, isn’t it? Proving – as if there was ever any doubt – that i would be quite comfortable as a welfare mother*. In fact, i think i would be so good at it, i could teach classes, if that didn’t require effort. Or being vertical. Trailer Park roots run deep.
After my first full day in the office today, waging never-ending war against technological dinosaurs, i was pretty damn tired. All i wanted to do was walk the dog, smoke that last cigarette**, and get my ass horizontal. Working to optimize the most efficient “lazy” strategy on the drive home, i came up with a plan! i decided that i might be able to handle having the smoke, while walking the dog – knowing that i’d look quite fetching with the dog leash in one hand, cigarette dangling from my thin Appalachian-American lips while i bent over to pick up dog turds in a plastic bag.
As i drove up to my garage, it seemed that every neighbor was out and about… including the ‘man-about-condo’ guy who likes to chat, and the sweet, lonely elder-widow who is fixated on my dog. Hmmm… a quick walk (me & dog)/dump (dog) seemed unlikely. By the time i’d unloaded my backpack and keys, harnessed up the mutt-nugget, and headed outside, the neighborhood discussion group had expanded – and was congealed right outside my open garage door. No turning back and no way to avoid conversation.
Even more fun? The young girl across the street with her 2 lb puppy had joined the pack… Mr. Pickles the Wonder Dog apparently forgot that i’m 5 days post-op for knee surgery, and decided to bolt after Yappy McHairball.
Disaster averted – i managed to get my good leg planted before 100 pounds of slobber-dog hit the end of the leash. Turds dropped and retrieved. Cigarette smoked from my back deck – empty pack disposed of without a second thought of buying another. Off for a nap…
* meant in the spirit of the “Neil Young” usage of the term… “Di-vor-CEEEEEEEEE”
** i quit smoking “full time” in 1985 (having smoked my first cig at 7 years old or so). i’m one of those “social” smokers – if there’s a beer and a friend with a pack? i’ll have one. if i’m doing a show with the theatre posse? generally i’ll even buy a pack – quitting afterwards without a second thought… hate the smell, and hate the way it makes me feel after a pack, so before you start with the good-natured ‘nagging’, don’t worry about it… this will be it until the next show. Or surgery.