My dad had a woodworking accident with a very sharp chisel and his left wrist on Saturday. He’s ok in the sense of “he’s ok” but it’s unclear if he’ll regain sensation or full motor function in his left pinky and ring fingers. He’s still planning to do surgery on Wednesday (he is a surgeon).
Later today I will scrub down our bathroom, which is filthy in the sense of “filthy from a certain point of view” but not filthy in the sense of “I feel less clean for having showered in this bathroom.” (I have showered in that bathroom)
Last night I went to the grocery store. The grocery store is where I do my therapy shopping. In times of greatest stress weirdo groceries like tofurkey loaf and almond meal are purchased in a fugue state.
Kept a level head last night. Weirdest purchase was a giant bag of puffed honey oat cereal. It was the only decent cereal I could find available in reasonable quantity for under $3. When did cereal get so expensive?!? (this is the stand-up comedy routine I composed while in the grocery store) I go to the grocery store, every box is $5.99 for 16 ounces of cereal! Cheerios, Puffins, Raisin Bran, all of it: $5.99 for a decent box, or like $3.99 for a little box. Look at the Grape Nuts, and that is a tiny little box for $5.59 but see it’s 24 ounces. Do the math, you’ll change your tune about the Grape Nuts. That is value. Do the math. But still, don’t want to spend more than $3 on cereal, so I move on. Then there’s the puffed rice cereal for $1.79, but that is like $.10 of rice in there. That’s paying $1.69 for air. I just want $.60 of corn, in a dense flake form. I’ll pay for mark-up, but I won’t pay for air. Cereal that’s like horsefood. That is my cereal. Frosted Flakes on special for $2.29. Getting closer. Not at the point of life anymore where Frosted Flakes are an acceptable food. Respect to Frosted Flake lovers. I’m old, not in the age of my years, but in the age of my heart. Stacked in the back are the “Eco” cereals in giant 24oz. bags. Pick one without really looking at it, so disgusted with the cereal racket. Grateful to be disgusted. Grateful to be capable of distraction.
The creative exec said, “I just don’t see two women leading a tech show.”
I nodded and quietly seethed, like a coward.
Inside, I bit my tongue, held back from saying, “thanks! I’ll file that note under F, for ‘Go Fuck Yourself.’”
What I would say now, only slightly cooled off since: “Sure. I’m sure you couldn’t see a woman leading a detective show either, with no sex, no love interest, no children, and no wacky sidekick.
“But Murder She Wrote ran for twelve seasons, and it made a lot of people a lot of money, tho I guarantee you it didn’t make any money for the people in the room who said, ‘I just don’t see a female Columbo.’”
Then I would flip the table with my dick.