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Bright spots

          This morning I took a header on my bike, and landed on my face. Not only that, but my helmet flew off, so it was a ‘good’ thing I landed on my face, for my noggin was not protected. The most ignominious part was that I hadn’t even mounted the bike yet; it was at that moment when you have your left foot on the pedal, and you kick off with the right, and you’re about to  sling your right leg over the saddle to take off! into the wild blue yonder!, except the bike went inexplicably backwards whilst I went forwards. I got a boo boo. Recently, my physical, psychological, financial and psychic selves have all suffered boo boos, one after the other. Its as though each and every day is auditioning to be Friday the 13th. I barely have the energy to get out of bed. First a deer committed suicide on my truck, then I got a flat, then I took a day off work because Ben was going to finish my siding for me, but he didn’t show up and didn’t call, then I went to town to pick up the rest of the tin and it wasn’t in even though they promised me it would be, and then my satellite radio quit working, and I sent it in for warranty, but they didn’t do anything about it for a month before telling me there was nothing wrong with it, and after that – or am I getting everything conflated? – I got a summons at 9 am on a Sunday and it turns out that my truck needs and alignment, and Allie is suffering more pain and I can’t afford to take her to Belgrade for treatment, and I’m almost out of pain pills for her, and there is now a swampy, stinky smell in my bathroom but I can’t call the plumber because he won’t speak to me because we’re still in litigation over the failed heating system and I’d go on, but they don’t make any smaller fonts than this one.

                There have been bright spots, though. My friend Heidi, who is a complete and utter whack-o, and, thusly, someone I admire very much, said brightly that one of these days I’ll have an “aha!” moment and realize how it is that my ‘soul type’ is at the core of this, and all I have to do is visualize positive things rather than dwelling on the fact that I will, most probably, next develop a full-blown case of kuru-kuru even though I’m a vegetarian (oh, all right, I confess: I ate an elk-burger last year. And once I was sharing a pizza with pepperoni on it and I didn’t pick off every last scrap of meat, but I doubt that’s why I’m about to develop kuru-kuru. That has to do with morals, just like all outward manifestations of disease.), so I’m vigorously picturing the book advance sailing into my bank account, but it doesn’t seem to help. I keep getting it wrong and making it worse. Oh, yeah, the bright spots.

          One is the guys in ties. For various reasons I took my poor, injured, suicided-upon pick up to the dealer to be fixed. They did a grand job, getting it done in a week, and even having guys stay late one night to make sure it was ready when I arrived, after conducting a complicated ballet of returning borrowed cars and whatnot (thanks, Julie! You’re another bright spot!), except that the one window latch wasn’t in yet. So when I went in to pick up the tin which wasn’t yet there, I went to pick up my chain saw chains (since I have no heat yet, I’d better start cutting firewood), but they weren’t done, since nobody told the sharpening guy that I would be in to pick them up that day, so I went to the library to return that movie which never played right,  but it was closed and you can’t return DVDs in the slot, so I went over to the hardware store to get more of the stain I needed, but it was discontinued, and I ran out off small fonts again. On my defeated way out of town, I stopped in for the latch, which was in, but all the mechanics had already gone home. Well, three guys in ties stepped up, found the part, found some tools and installed that latch, while I stood there, nearly crying in equal shares of frustration and gratitude. Bright spot. I swear I’m baking them a pie. I even bought golden delicious apples just for pie-making.

          And then there was the radio-guy, who I called Trevor, even though his name is Taylor. Perhaps he was channeling my friend Jim’s son, Taylor, whom I call Trevor, since the radio-guy-Trevor/Taylor was as sweet and helpful as the other one must be, being the son of Jim, but how would I know? The other one is a teenager, and a male one at that, so I’ve never had an actual conversation with him. But anyway, Trevor/Taylor called from the company who sold me the radio, and even though none of this was directly his company’s fault – just a little bit – he wound up saying he’d send me a whole new kit  for free! And I could keep the old, perhaps-broken one! Bright spot.  I can listen to the radio again. Cross your fingers. Oh, and Ben showed up – albeit at an inconvenient time – and came really, really close to committing to show up for work this Sunday. I didn’t tell him that I’d also finally gotten through to Jeff, who is planning to come on Sunday to do the siding, too. Bright spot! Perhaps I’ll be able to have that siding party after all. I still have Buffalo burgers in the freezer, should any of you care to show up…but everyone wear Kevlar pants, goggles, hard hats, steel-toed boots, leather gloves, respirators and bring your signed statements of assumption of liability. No exceptions. I don’t want any more calamities.

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