Pop a la Mode

This entire week is really making my head hurt. I feel like there are too many things flying at me from too many different directions. Some of the things on my list:

• Five major work projects due within days of each other.
• An in-house meeting with the client that causes all of my stomach ulcers.
• RSVP to my 10-year high school reunion.
• Coordinate the handbell schedule at church for the rest of the year.
• A sexual harrassment training course.

But there are some good things happening. I’m headed to Oxford to visit D. and Corrie this weekend which will be fun. Ang is coming down for a visit with her fabulous husband Kerry.

I’m trying to look at the bright side but it’s hard to see it through the fog.

A man travels the world in search of what he needs and returns home to find it. - George Moore

It is so nice to be back home again. Things are just slower here - not as hustle and bustle as every day in Birmingham. Take today for instance. I’m working at a coffeeshop but I don’t feel as overwhelmed as I would if I were sitting in my office. I can think clearer and resaon better and I just feel more productive.

I ran by my grandparents’ house just in time for lunch and the fresh corn that Papa pulled this morning. I’m going to head back in about an hour when the hot yeast rolls are coming out of the oven. It’s all about timing people.

I don’t know what the rest of the week holds exactly. I know I’m getting a haircut; I know we’re going to my favorite steakhouse for dinner; I know Sarah Joy is coming over for a sleepover and I know I’ll probably sleep more than any one person should.

And all of this is perfectly fine with me.

I’ll post more later this week. I’m trying to wrap up a bunch of stuff because I fly out at 6 stinkin’ 30 in the morning for Raleigh. I should have learned a long time ago not to let my boss make the travel arrangements.

Plus side is that I’m going to be in Virginia the rest of the week with the fam. Free plane ticket!

This weekend was a busy one with visitors and seeing friends that I thought didn’t exist anymore. Some of the stuff on my list:

1. Feasting on Asphalt - This show has made me want to take a road trip and stop at every roadside dive along the way.
2. Five Sisters: The Langhornes of Virginia - My new book for trip this week - some local Danville girls that turned out pretty well.
3. Mad Hot Ballroom - Best Movie Ever.

Whew - that’s over. And as much as I probably complained about it, it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing for me to do.

I learned a few things though:

1. Princess Diana would have lived if she had been wearing her seat belt. Isn’t that sad?
2. Mountain Dew contains three times the caffeine of any other soft drink on the market.
3. The interior of my car should be a stress-free environment. If this is true, then Dad should never, ever have attempted to teach me to drive.

Also - I can get a discount on my car insurance which is pretty cool. And today at lunch I’m going pay off the ticket and have it erased from my record. I promise - I learned my lesson.

And I’m definitely not talking Mickey Mouse.

I really hate mice. I can deal with snakes and spiders and roaches and most anything else but there is something about mice that just makes my skin crawl.

We used to have them at home in Virginia every now and then. I remember one Sunday D. and I came home from church and I was walking into my bedroom and something brown and furry ran right across the floor under my dresser. Cue the screaming and me not going back in until Dad set the trap.

And last summer I was at home and I heard this scratching noise up above our den in the attic space. I tell Dad again and he sets the trap. Move forward a few hours and it’s about 10:00 at night. I’m watching TV and I hear the trap go off! Oh ew. And worse, I hear the mouse fighting. Then I hear the trap and the mouse moving. I run upstairs to tell Dad and ever the pragmatist Dad says, “Well he can’t go far. I’ll deal with it in the morning.”

And you know what? The next morning, Dad couldn’t find the trap nor the mouse. I didn’t say I told you so but I really wanted to. It was found later, much later.

So last night I’m awoken from a deep sleep by this scratching noise in the wall of my bedroom.  Dang it! I start praying I’m dreaming but it’s pretty evident that I’m not.

Dad, in all his infinite wisdom, just laughs at me and starts to tell me to set a trap. And who do you think is going to get rid of the thing if it’s caught? As if I’m going to touch it.

Homeownership really stinks sometimes.

Now I’ve heard of everything. “Obituary Magazine” - who on earth would subscribe to this?