Somebody sent me a message today asking me if I was well and was getting into the fall spirit.
I could only think of Jim Carrey in Liar, Liar when I confirmed I was indeed getting into the fall spirit and was marginally well.
Likewise as I typed my cheery reply a curmudgeonly beast inside me was roaring: “Lady. It’s pouring with rain outside and my shoes are wet; it’s gray and lifeless in the office. Let’s throttle back on fall spirit; at least until a day when the sun’s shining.”
The only fall spirit I’m contemplating comes in a small bottle after the day I’m having.
And it’s not even the worst day I’ve had for a while; not like the day the dog was put down, or the fan blew on my car the same day as I had just spend $200 on new tires.
Nobody has been particularly rude to me, although nobody has been overtly polite to me either. The ice caps haven’t started to melt at a more rapid pace than hitherto since Sunday and nobody has parked in my spot outside the condo. I imagine a lot of unpleasant things are still going on in Darfur but I really wouldn’t know as the only TV news I catch up with is on US channels that hardly ever even cover events in England or France.
Admittedly I’m not really looking forward to tonight’s trip to Petsmart or a session on an exercise machine that is becoming more squeaky by the day.
It strikes me that in reality I’m allergic to routine. It makes me twitch and get up from my seat a lot to walk around aimlessly to the mail boxes before realizing I’ve been there before and there is still nothing interesting beyond a couple of council agendas.
I’ve got to the stage when I enter my existential crises on my outlook calendar before I even have them.
Until I can find a store to buy some of that elusive fall spirit, I’ll keep seeking out a life less ordinary.