Today I fell into a fog. The news of events in our nation curdled any food that I managed to swallow. I tackled the initial deployment of my evaporative cooler and managed to over-fill it, causing water to seep from its seams and flow across my house. True enough, three tries got me to a customer service supervisor who diligently diagnosed and solved the problem. But by that time, I had heard the cries of children torn from their parents and could not redeem this Tuesday.
Accordingly, I did what any red-blooded American would do under same or similar circumstances. I watched a movie. Not just any movie: The Revolt of Mother. the 1988 gem which I had watched upon its first release. I figured it would be on YouTube by now.
I plugged my tablet into its charger and curled on my daybed with my feet propped on the cedar chest. I had shoved the water-soaked towel in the laundry machine and left the day’s dishes in the sink. With the setting sun, the house cooled of its own accord. I stilled the machine and flicked the switch on the overhead fan before collapsing and letting myself fall into the film. I took a certain satisfaction from Amy Madigan‘s performance thirty years ago, and felt that warmth return this evening. With all the evil and tribulation about which I could complain, I’m happy to have had a sweet piece of acting and a fine plot to distract me.
Midnight draws near. I’m thinking of the dust in my bathroom sink and the rubble accumulated in my car. I let myself flounder today. But I’m cutting myself a little slack. Not every day needs to be conquered. Some can merely be survived.
It’s the nineteenth day of the fifty-fourth month of My Year Without Complaining. Life continues.
