“Oh, Honey, I can’t even understand you.”
And I’m blubbering into the phone. “It’s gone, it’s gone. The glasses… and…and the blue chain….” More blubbering. Sobbing.
“What happened? What?”
“I wanted…to take…a walk. I thought it would help, you know?” More blubbering. “It was such a bad afternoon.” More crying. “I thought I deserved something nice. But, nooooooooo…” Wailing.
“What happened? Was it while you were walking?”
“Yes… It was nice. I got…a skirt. At Goodwill. To replace the one that I tore. You know…my favorite one that I got a hole in… My faaaaavorite…” Sobbing.
“Oh, no…” He tries to soothe me, but it’s not easy being on the phone with someone who’s crying so hard it’s difficult to get the details.
I had found a new skirt. Fits like a charm and looks barely worn. Got a book I’ve long been wanting to read. In softcover, so even less expensive. Total Goodwill score. To top it off, I decided to go to Cold Stone Creamery, since I’d been craving it for days. I was sitting at the little round table in the back when I got the idea for the “L” posting. (Obviously not this one. Not sure if this is ultimately better or worse. Guess it just is what it is.) I pulled out my phone to put it in Evernote to upload later, and was reaching for my reading glasses. That’s when I noticed they weren’t there. I knew they were gone, but tried to stay positive. It was still light out, I could easily retrace my steps. I walked back, carefully scanning the ground for even the broken lenses, since I’d crossed several streets. Nothing. Went back to Goodwill. (Everyone was so nice.) Nothing. All the way home, even starting to think that, hey, maybe I didn’t wear them, after all! (I knew I had.) Nothing.
The phone rings. The crying begins.
“I don’t want any more good things to happen, if the bad things come right after.” Blubbering. “I can’t take it.”
More soothing.
“I’ll take…the skirt…back.” Sobbing. “If I can just get the glasses–they were really good ones, too, not the cheap kind–back…”
“I don’t think that’ll work.”
“I knoooooow.” Wailing.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re having such a hard time today. Tomorrow will be better.”
“I don’t want tomorrow.” Crying. “I don’t understand…why every good thing…has to have…a corresponding…bad thing. Except the bad things…are so much worse…” More snuffling and sobs. “And it was the good chain, too… Not…one of the dumb ones. My favor…ite…”
“Oh, I know you loved that chain.”
“I’ll never find another one like it… It was bluuuuuuue…” More wailing. Worse than blue, which is my favorite color, was the fact that it was an art piece, one of a kind, and irreplaceable, as the out-of-town store I got it at several years previously was long gone. I’d been thinking of beading one similar to it, but hadn’t gotten around to it, because…you know…Depression.
He promised to call in the morning (which was this morning, since this all happened last night), which seemed like a week away at the time. I got in the shower, where I thought I’d be better, since the water on my face seemed like crying, but less painful. I thought how it’d be a good night to take some medicine. But I don’t have any, having cut the last of the pills in so many pieces to make them last longer they probably lost every efficacy in the process. And it’s been a long time ago anyway, even though I saved the very last pieces for really bad days, which have been coming more and more often the past year, but my appointment with the nurse practitioner isn’t until May 15th, and you can bet I’m counting the days, since I already called on my last “good” day to be put on the waiting list in case there’s a cancellation, though she says that’s not likely…
*****
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After the Ecstasy, the Laundry . . . 