DAWN OF THE CRAPPY DAY

I must vent about my crappy day. Maybe I’m being selfish, but I don’t like these markedly inferior or unpleasant periods in my life.

Shortly after sunrise, I trudged out to continue spraying the mesquite and huisache that are menacing the ranch. They grow faster than weeds, have thorns, and the cattle do not eat them. Why that early, you ask? First, it is cooler, and second, the wind is not active. I personally do not like having poison droplets on my face.

I put the sprayer on the back of my gator, drive from plant to plant, and individually spray each bush.

While spraying, I ran into a truck tire hidden in the grass, left behind by the bastards who abandoned the oil well on my property without cleaning up their mess, as required by the State of Texas and the contract I had with them. See previous blogs, Oil Baron No More and 1 Unique Buried Treasure.

Around 8:15 a.m., I returned to clean up and prepare to write. However….

MIDMORNING AND EARLY AFTERNOON OF THE CRAPPY DAY

The day took a decidedly steep downturn when I unexpectedly had to deal with a sick man. Long story short, my husband informed me that he was still having headaches (he just finished antibiotics for a possible sinus infection). Oh, and by the way, he told me, his heart was racing and had been over 115 beats a minute for about four days. He had been shoving down antihistamines.

I will not pepper this manuscript with profanity yet, although the thought did come to mind.

The rest of the time looked like this:

• Visit to his personal care provider.
• A forty-five-minute one-way drive to get an X-ray of his sinuses because our local rural hospital has closed.
• A stop to pick up BBQ sandwiches, where the server talked incessantly about who in her family liked the white meat or the dark meat of the chicken, including asking her mother about her father’s preferences. Who cares? Just give me the dark meat.
• A stop at the pharmacy to find that they did not have the medicine that had been prescribed to slow down his heart rate. It was on order.
• Hubby refuses to call the pharmacist and have them check to see if their sister store,  about forty-five minutes away, could immediately fill it. I offered to pick it up. He refused.

LATE AFTERNOON OF THE CRAPPY DAY

Upon opening the newspaper, my heart sank to read the three obituaries in the Tuesday edition. They were all people I knew. Funerals are now on my calendar. BTW, the main air conditioner in my office wasn’t working, so I had to huddle in the cabin’s bedroom where the window unit pumped out some cool.

HAPPY HOUR OF THE CRAPPY DAY

The last indignity of my crappy day began at happy hour. Desperate to salve my fried brain, I whipped up a Manhattan. Some bitters, rye, and sweet vermouth.

(Note: Before I go further, do not ask me about using Luxardo cherries. I am cheap and they are not! I skip the cherries.)

I grabbed a handful of ice from the freezer and, holding it over the glass, froze. My eyeballs almost popped out of my skull at the scorpion swimming in my perfectly curated cocktail. Not just a tiny one, but one that stretched the diameter of the glass.

Yes, I said swimming. It was alive and well under alcohol.

Immediately (and with great sadness at the waste), I threw the drink in the sink and proceeded to take the handle of the dish scrubber to eviscerate the m*****f*****. In my haste, I forgot to shut the freezer door, and the refrigerator urgently beeped at me.

By now, I was shaking with fright. Back to make another drink, I promptly knocked over the shot glass filled with vermouth. Sigh. Cleanup on Counter 3.

Staggering to the couch with fattening peanuts, I gulped down the magic elixir to calm my nerves.

LAST THOUGHTS ABOUT A CRAPPY DAY

My hope is that, after reading about my day, you will be completely satisfied with your current state of affairs.

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