My meds aren’t working very well. I know this because I am obsessively fretting about the weather.
Until yesterday, we hadn’t had a decent rain since Independence Day, and I’ve had to water the garden and add water to freshen the pond. Lots of thunderstorms have been promised, but they miss us altogether or spritz a few feeble drops upon us and move on to some other place. Even this rain, which suffices for watering the garden, has not caused the streams to flow, nor has it increased the water level in the pond appreciably.
I have this paranoid fear that I will run out of water, that the well will run dry, that my expensive new fish and newly discovered turtle(s) will suffocate or migrate due to stagnation of the pond. And all my shrubs and perennials will die.
I can hear the thunder in the distance and see lightening flashes at night. My dog who hates thunder gets nervous and needy. But the torrents come not. The streams are dry, and the pond is low, low, low. Yet, the grass grows and must be mown weekly. It is a strange drought. If I concentrate enough, I know I can make it rain more. Yesterday, I watered in the rain, in an act of sympathetic magic, to make it rain more. Crazy? You bet!
The cat who lived in the shed was given by Mrs Vache Folle, who consulted me not on the issue, to our neighbor lady, the greatest neighbor ever who lived. For the cat, this is the equivalent of an orphan’s being adopted by Santa Claus, and I should rejoice for the cat. And for us, who will not be burdened with another animal to feed. But Mrs VF should have asked me if I cared, and she didn’t. Perhaps she knew how little I longed for a cat and merely anticipated my wishes. Or maybe, she doesn’t love me any longer and doesn’t care what I think about the cat. I’m actually fretting about this. Meds ain’t working.
My co-workers forgot to swing by my office and fetch me for lunch the other day. Ordinarily, I am the harbinger of lunch, and they probably assumed that I had already gone down to the cafeteria. My interpretation? They hate me and are plotting against me. They are filing claims against me now for being a rude individual with a sick sense of humor. They deny this, but of course they would, wouldn’t they?
Meds, don’t fail me now!