Chuck kneads Ben Gay into my back and comments on the tightness of my shoulders.
"What if," I say to him, "I'm really not a laid-back person at all? I'm a stress ball who doesn't know she's stressed until she's in self-imposed traction?"
"It's possible," he says.
I'm at Bed Bath & Beyond looking for the elusive 63" curtain. I've not yet been to the Duluth store and when I walk in, as when I walk in any sort of place like this, I start thinking of pioneers. Floor mats, rubberized sink drains, shower radios, feather beds. How they dragged floor-length dresses across dirt living rooms, spent hours sweeping and churning and kneading and sewing. Reading the bible by candlelight. How it would be a daylong trip by buggy to go to a general store to buy flour and fabric and fuckit, I'm going to splurge and buy a new hat and some lace, Merry Christmas, enjoy your apple. And now we have sheets with an 800 thread count or a stand for propping a cookbook. It's interesting to me that we have so many options on color, design, fabric and cost on so many non-essential things. I need 63" curtains. I'm actually annoyed when they don't have what I need, though I know I can find them online. What would Laura Ingalls say about that?
"Do you want to see it?" the guy at Mendards asks. He's just mixed a can of paint.
"What if it's purple?" I ask.
"It won't be," he says. People in public rarely understand my sense of humor. It plays best in our kitchen -- and, well, in my head.
He opens the can to reveal a color not found in nature.
I giggle manically.
"This is going to be the ugliest room ever," I say with a smile, stopping just short of clapping.
"No, no," he says. "We sell lots of this."
Customer service tip: I've said this before and I'll say it again: Walgreens clerks really need to look at what they're ringing up before they ask how your doing. The answer, lady, is in your hands. I've just set 20 dollars worth of items from the feminine health aisle on your counter. We both know I'm lying when I say "I'm doing great!"
I have too many books going at once and I can't get myself to read any of them. Non-fiction. Local fiction. Non-fiction comparative lit. A graphic novel. A Kindle Sample of a recommendation from my friend The Rock Star. Pick one up, brain itches. Pick up another, eyes swim. Pick up another, no, don't start this before Book 1 or Book 2 is completed. I'm restless and scratchy and I wonder if reading a young adult adventure novel has ruined me for things without blood shed and cliffhangers. What if I can never read an adult book ever again.
You know what's wrong with 2012? There is not enough pan-style pizza. Everything is thin crust. That's why I was delighted to open a box from VIP tonight that looked exactly like something one would eat after rollerskating up a deep hunger.
Chuck and I are doing a house-improvement project that involves turning one of the bedrooms from a place where we put stuff into a cat-free record lounge, complete with soft surfaces and cave-like lighting. An oasis. A make out room. Whatever. Tonight we painted the first coat and whoa is it ugly.
Fun fact: For 36 years I thought that the song "Ruby Tuesday" was by the Beetles.