Where's My Keeper?
I shouldn't be allowed out of my home (or alone in my home) without my keeper.
It was approaching bedtime last night, when I suddenly remembered I had an appointment this afternoon.
(For the uninitiated, since I retired, bedtime is approximately 4 am and I get up at approximately 11 or 12 am. I've always been at my most creative and productive in the wee hours of the morning and finally I can take advantage of it.)
Anyway, I suddenly remembered that I had an appointment at church for my picture to be taken for the directory. I loathe having my picture taken. I have two expressions--smiling with my eyes closed, or eyes open and looking something between grim and angry. Anyway, there was no getting out of it. Congregation solidarity is huge when it comes to everyone s/u/c/c/u/m/b/i/n/g/ t/o participating in the biennial t/o/r/t/u/r/e event, and I had no excuse because Lorena would be picking me up.
I was reconciling myself to the inevitable when I remembered that my hair was dirty. I have very long hair--it's a bit difficult for me to gauge in a mirror but I think it goes to my waist--and I always let it dry naturally. I looked at the clock (3:30) and realized I was already past the point of getting a full night's sleep and also getting up in time for my hair to be entirely dry for the picture. Well semi-dry would have to do. I got ready for bed as quickly as I could.
When I got up (10:30) I had about half of a migraine, which I guessed was heading toward a whole one. I dragged myself into the kitchen, made coffee, took meds, brought the coffee into the computer and stared at the screen through closed eyelids while cauterizing my tongue. After maybe a half hour, I convinced myself that the headache was fading, and started the showering and shampooing routine. And so on, through the various stages of getting ready.
Normally, I don't wear makeup so I had trouble finding my powder, blusher and lipstick. The last time I remembered wearing them was at a conference in late November. (I don't get out much, with or without keepers.) The cats thought my search great fun, especially the part where I looked in the (empty) suitcase. Anyway, I found them and applied everything, then moved on to choosing clothes and finally looked at the results in the mirror. My hair had done this really weird thing and begun to dry just right. An angel must have guided my hand when I was putting on the makeup. I actually looked good.
It was such a strange phenomenon that I thought to myself, "Something is going to happen." You call it cynicism. I call it preparedness. ;-)
Anyway, I checked to make sure everything was done, then sat down at the computer with a fresh cup of coffee, an picked up staring at the screen through my eyelids where I had left off. (I still had the headache but it had kindly chosen not to become a fullblown migraine.)
Time passed and a thought crept in (or out?). Lorena and I had never settled on a pick-up time. I opened my eyes and looked at the little clock by the computers. Yikes! I had better check my email for a note from her, and call her if she hadn't written me. No email. I picked up my cell and opened it and the phone told me I had three voice mails. (I must have set it on mute.) I punched in the code and listened. Not her on the first one. Not her on the second one--which went on forever as the caller explained and re-explained the same thing. And as the phone blinged that the battery was running out. I tried to delete the message, (bling-bling) but the phone wasn't having any. Evidently, that's rude. You delete messages only when messages have run their course. After the fiftieth iteration of information (bling-bling-bling) that I had understood the first time round that caller stopped and I hit delete, just as the battery ran out.
Yeah. Much leaping up from computer tables. Blue air. Phones not -quite- thrown across the room.
Anyway...
I set up the phone for recharging, and grabbed up my stuff and went downstairs. It was 25 minutes before the first of our two appointments. My best guess was that she might have been waiting for five minutes. Or, she might not come until 15 minutes before the appointment. Or, she might have chosen to go early, called and left me a message, sat out here and waited 15-30 minutes ago, and already be at the church and wondering where I had gotten to.
I hung out inside the apartment door, peering through a window into the parking lot, and thinking that I really wasn't dressed as warmly as I should be. Time ticked by ever so slowly. One theory dissolved after another until the only one left was Lorena opting to get to the photo shoot early. I climbed the steps in a royal grump. I wasn't really angry with her. I had trouble getting to my third floor apartment and I didn't ever expect her to make the attempt. What I couldn't understand was why she hadn't emailed me ahead of time. That was our standard procedure. I unlocked the apartment door, remembering my thoughts from earlier in the day when I looked in the mirror, "Something is going to happen." Yup. Got that right.
Checked the two email accounts again. Nothing.
Got the strangest little tickle of an idea. Checked my appointment book. Yup. The photo shoot is next week, not this week.
It was approaching bedtime last night, when I suddenly remembered I had an appointment this afternoon.
(For the uninitiated, since I retired, bedtime is approximately 4 am and I get up at approximately 11 or 12 am. I've always been at my most creative and productive in the wee hours of the morning and finally I can take advantage of it.)
Anyway, I suddenly remembered that I had an appointment at church for my picture to be taken for the directory. I loathe having my picture taken. I have two expressions--smiling with my eyes closed, or eyes open and looking something between grim and angry. Anyway, there was no getting out of it. Congregation solidarity is huge when it comes to everyone s/u/c/c/u/m/b/i/n/g/ t/o participating in the biennial t/o/r/t/u/r/e event, and I had no excuse because Lorena would be picking me up.
I was reconciling myself to the inevitable when I remembered that my hair was dirty. I have very long hair--it's a bit difficult for me to gauge in a mirror but I think it goes to my waist--and I always let it dry naturally. I looked at the clock (3:30) and realized I was already past the point of getting a full night's sleep and also getting up in time for my hair to be entirely dry for the picture. Well semi-dry would have to do. I got ready for bed as quickly as I could.
When I got up (10:30) I had about half of a migraine, which I guessed was heading toward a whole one. I dragged myself into the kitchen, made coffee, took meds, brought the coffee into the computer and stared at the screen through closed eyelids while cauterizing my tongue. After maybe a half hour, I convinced myself that the headache was fading, and started the showering and shampooing routine. And so on, through the various stages of getting ready.
Normally, I don't wear makeup so I had trouble finding my powder, blusher and lipstick. The last time I remembered wearing them was at a conference in late November. (I don't get out much, with or without keepers.) The cats thought my search great fun, especially the part where I looked in the (empty) suitcase. Anyway, I found them and applied everything, then moved on to choosing clothes and finally looked at the results in the mirror. My hair had done this really weird thing and begun to dry just right. An angel must have guided my hand when I was putting on the makeup. I actually looked good.
It was such a strange phenomenon that I thought to myself, "Something is going to happen." You call it cynicism. I call it preparedness. ;-)
Anyway, I checked to make sure everything was done, then sat down at the computer with a fresh cup of coffee, an picked up staring at the screen through my eyelids where I had left off. (I still had the headache but it had kindly chosen not to become a fullblown migraine.)
Time passed and a thought crept in (or out?). Lorena and I had never settled on a pick-up time. I opened my eyes and looked at the little clock by the computers. Yikes! I had better check my email for a note from her, and call her if she hadn't written me. No email. I picked up my cell and opened it and the phone told me I had three voice mails. (I must have set it on mute.) I punched in the code and listened. Not her on the first one. Not her on the second one--which went on forever as the caller explained and re-explained the same thing. And as the phone blinged that the battery was running out. I tried to delete the message, (bling-bling) but the phone wasn't having any. Evidently, that's rude. You delete messages only when messages have run their course. After the fiftieth iteration of information (bling-bling-bling) that I had understood the first time round that caller stopped and I hit delete, just as the battery ran out.
Yeah. Much leaping up from computer tables. Blue air. Phones not -quite- thrown across the room.
Anyway...
I set up the phone for recharging, and grabbed up my stuff and went downstairs. It was 25 minutes before the first of our two appointments. My best guess was that she might have been waiting for five minutes. Or, she might not come until 15 minutes before the appointment. Or, she might have chosen to go early, called and left me a message, sat out here and waited 15-30 minutes ago, and already be at the church and wondering where I had gotten to.
I hung out inside the apartment door, peering through a window into the parking lot, and thinking that I really wasn't dressed as warmly as I should be. Time ticked by ever so slowly. One theory dissolved after another until the only one left was Lorena opting to get to the photo shoot early. I climbed the steps in a royal grump. I wasn't really angry with her. I had trouble getting to my third floor apartment and I didn't ever expect her to make the attempt. What I couldn't understand was why she hadn't emailed me ahead of time. That was our standard procedure. I unlocked the apartment door, remembering my thoughts from earlier in the day when I looked in the mirror, "Something is going to happen." Yup. Got that right.
Checked the two email accounts again. Nothing.
Got the strangest little tickle of an idea. Checked my appointment book. Yup. The photo shoot is next week, not this week.