It's a beautiful day

My day:

Went to bed late, woke up kind of late. Felt as if I didn't get enough sleep, though.

Ate a small breakfast quickly -- wanted to get to the grocery store before it got crowded.

On my way to the store, my car sputtered and heaved, sputtered and heaved. Must have water in the gas line, I thought. Barely made it to the store, which was packed beyond belief. Got my stuff, drove home. Repeat sputter and heave.

At home in the driveway, I wondered how bad the situation was. Was this a sign of something more serious. Would I make it to work ok? What if I need major repairs? For someone barely getting by week to week, financially speaking, these thoughts carried some weight.

Out of the car, I was met with the deep rumbling staccato of Steve's pressure washer. For the last couple of weekends now, he's been parading the thing out. And not for short amounts of time. "Again with this fucking thing!", I lamented out loud and with some volume. Fucking prick and his noise pollution.

Inside the house, I put my grocery bags down on the table next to the sink. Doing so, I knocked over a cup of water someone left there. Water everywhere. All over my groceries, all over the floor, all over me. I cleaned it up, trying to keep calm. I was mostly successful.

In order to drain all the water that got in my grocery bags, I needed to clear out the pile of dishes in the sink. I put some of them on the counter, some on the table. That accomplished, I went upstairs.

I came back down to get some coffee. As I made my way to the kitchen, I heard Rich slamming dishes and silverware around and muttering to himself like the oft miserable prick he is. I decided not to venture into the kitchen at that time. Though I was maintaining ok, I knew it wouldn't take me much to get into some kind of altercation with him.

I had a minor epiphany. What the fuck does it matter to me that Rich is all worked up about something?As far as I could tell, he was either pissed that there was a bunch of dirty dishes in and around the sink and decided to wash them himself so he wouldn't have to look at them anymore, or he was pissed at me because he thought I was pissed at him at him for all the dishes laying about. Oy, ve! Fucking convoluted.

Anyway, the minor epiphany was all about letting go of shit like that. Let Rich stew in his own juices if that's what he's intent on doing. And let Steve roll out the noise parade every waking hour if that is his wont. It's up to me to decide how I react to things outside my control. And all that psycho babble. But, it's true, though. I tried to take heed.

T'wasnt easy, my friends. In my room not long after, I couldn't find my dvd remote. I'd just used the thing earlier in the morning. I looked under my pillows, in my drawers, on the floor, under my blankets. I practically upended the entire room looking for the thing. It was nowhere to be found. In the process of searching, the crotch in my pants, my favorite, most comfortable, pair, ripped.

I laughed. And not in a sardonic way, which would have been apt. No, I just laughed because everything was going wrong -- sure, mostly minor things, but that's why it was so funny. Was I spreading the kind of energy that engenders negative occurrences? Maybe. I've definitely given the idea some thought, which is rife with nuance. Definitely something for a longer post, not this one.

Once I found my remote (it was on the floor beside my bed - I suspect some gremlin-like inter-dimensional creatures have been fucking with me), I called Mara. On the phone with her, my phone started heating up. That was new. I wondered what would happen next.

Hours later, Steve still had the pressure washer going. Kind of interesting he was using a device with the word pressure in it. I was a feeling a bit of it myself at that point.

The day wasn't terrible, but what the fuck? I've had too many like that of late. I've handled them in good stride, I think. I haven't taken to cutting myself or throwing tantrums. Yet. More days like this one and who knows.