The washer keeps clicking and flashing OE! OE! OE! I am not sure what OE means but I’m fairly certain it’s not a positive affirmation of the washer’s self-worth. I go down and hit the pause button twice every few minutes. I tell myself it will be fine, as soon as we get the darn machine balanced.
Joe the handyman comes into the kitchen a few times a day to help me with projects beyond the capability of my spastic hands. He sits on the floor and snaps together a shelf for the weird, huge, awkward cabinet adjacent to the stove. He totes recycling to the car for eventual dumping in the station at the front of the park. In between assistant duties, he makes enviable cuts on the boards for my little 4×10 detached porch. Joe’s a pro. And a prince.
At about 5:00 p.m., Pattie from the corner lot texts an invitation to join everybody for Thursday night specials at Moore’s. I don’t know what Moore’s might be, but I figure what the heck, it’s Thursday, salads are $1, and I’ll make the eighth and a full table. I text back, Sure! and start to comb my hair. With these curls, that’s no easy task.
Of course, as a vegetarian, the five-buck burgers hold no appeal for me. I’m going to regret it, I tell myself, but I order a grilled cheese with fries. And the salad. I do regret it, later, but I take two little green pills and hope for the best.
After dinner, I put together a metal cart to serve as a pantry under the fridge. Everything I’ve ordered has that asterisk: “Some Assembly Required”. Just like my life, I think. Pass the Allen wrench, it’s going to be a long night. But I don’t mind.
It’s the twenty-eighth day of the forty-eighth month of My Year Without Complaining. Life continues.