It's been an oddly busy day, and I've had a time finding a spare moment to blog. It started off in a rush, because I overslept, then I was running like a headless chicken trying to get off to work and not be late.
I got the bright idea to make a breakfast sandwich I could eat in the car. So I buttered a hot dog bun and stuck it in the little countertop broiler, and scrambled some eggs. I fixed my tea, and went to get out the bun a few minutes later and it was stone cold. Despite the fact the broiler wasn't plugged in [my fault for plugging in the crock pot there yesterday] the timer had dinged, giving me a false sense that it was working. I piled my eggs on the cold bun, wrapped the whole thing in tinfoil, and dashed out the door. I wasn't late, thank God.
Yesterday was the first day I honestly tried to park in the parking garage - up until then I'd just parked in the Visitor lot because it was obvious. Yesterday I tried to find the alley to go behind the building, found it, with my boss on the phone talking me through it, then couldn't find the building entrance gate. I finally asked the boss to come down and get in my car and physically show me. Thanks be to God he did - I never would've spotted the door. Fortunately, he's an easygoing guy.
Today I breezed back there and parked, no problemo.
I had lunch with an old friend I used to work with. She filled me in on the office gossip. The more I think about it, the more I realize a cube farm is like a small town. Everyone knows everyone's business. It's claustrophobic.
Michael got to go back to the pool this afternoon. Yesterday the entire pool was shut down because some kid had a poop accident in the pool. I'm glad they shut it down and cleaned it. Ick.
My friend Cindy posted about a book she is reading about a fascinating man, Eustace Conway. Reading about that unique man took my mind off my troubles in a really nice way. I wish I could visit his home, Turtle Island Preserve. It's not too far from here, in the NC mountains.
My daughter has not called, texted, or come by the house. It's finally beginning to set in that she is really not coming back, not any time soon anyway. I think it's clear that she needs to learn some lessons and needs to do it the hard way, on her own. (And no, she has never read my blog. Nor does Mike read it. I don't really care if they do, but they choose not to. That's fine.)
I was thinking today, when Alesia first moved to this house Mother and I, we were making a Christmas wreath one day with some lovely, expensive floral ribbon, and Alesia insisted she knew how to make the bow. I asked her if she'd ever made one before and she said no. So I said well, let Granny make it then, she knows how, and we don't want to waste the ribbon. Nope, Alesia insisted she knew how, in a totally disoriented little exchange. I firmly said no. She finally cried and pitched a fit about it. She also pitched a fit when I tried to show her how to roller skate. She would not accept my teaching or authority even though I had been a good skater in my youth and she'd never roller skated in her life.. We had battles over authority all the time. I have wondered if she was biding her time to turn 18, so she could then do exactly as she pleased, without having to listen to me. She never thought I knew anything anyway. I think that control struggle idea has validity.
Doesn't make the loss of her any easier, but I am always struggling to understand what makes a person self-destructive.
