An Expensive Slip of Rubber

With the light in the office this morning an eerie, brownish, warm, almost supernatural hue of mournful gray, I was hit in the brain by a phrase which I thought lends itself to a poem I will write after I’m done with the aviation book. I wrote it down. If you like the phrase I am about to share, a phrase which reflects my state of mind in recent rain and chill, be my guest and use it for yourself as you like. My treat.

The complaisant harmony of woe.

I’m making decent progress with the book, but there’s a whale of a lot to do that has nothing to do with writing or photography in putting together my part of the process. It’s not like firing off pages of a novel manuscript to an editor, and that’s okay; I have neither the ability nor the interest in novels. My LIFE is a novel. No one would believe I’m living as I’m living. I’d tell you more, but time is tight. Suffice to say I eschewed the diversion of lunch and worked for the next four and a half hours on The BOOK.

About 2p, I started water on the stove for another cup of coffee and picked up the mail from the front porch. In it was an important communication from CWLP, my water and electric utility. I knew it was “muy importante” because it didn’t have a glassine panel on the envelope the way regular bills do. I opened it first.

My last payment check had not cleared the bank. I was told to come in by the 28th and pay it with cash or a cashier’s check, just like the drug lords do. BOOM! Brain fire! I strode out of my house and climbed into my car the ussual way: opened the hatchback, clambered inside, opened the driver’s door from the inside, backed out of the hatch, walked to the door and get in.. The bank was only two blocks away, but I thought I may as well go after some iced tea mix and bread, the only truly “essential” elements for a man of my capability to live in civil circumstance until the rent comes in. The coffee, noodles and peanut butter I already had would be fine until April 2th.It took a transfer of dollars from my real estate taxes fund to get me up to toe more than $250 due CWLP but it sure beat the pants of loosing my freaking electricity Friday. That would cause no end of disappointment for my esteemed editor up Chicago way.

Home and into the office, glanced at the rest of the CWLP letter as I prepared to turn on the computer . . . . and saw for the first time, that I had not read ALL of the letteer, particularly the part that mentioned the $20 overdraft fee. To blazes with the groceries. I’ll live on crunch fripping peanut butter, ramen noodles and instant Folger’s until Tuesday!

DAAAAAAAAANG it!

BOOM! Out the door! I was so fripping steamed that I didn’t want to bother climbing into my fripping car; didn’t want to work that hard. It would do me more good to walk over, and that’s what I did. CHEESEs, I knew I wasn’t going grocery shopping this time, and as long as it wasn’t raining, I could use the fripoping exercise! Told my teller (while observing the other bank people tilting their heads in the direction of the bearded sycophant yammering away so they could hear the sordid details) what an idiot I had been, and that we needed to make a further $20 adjustment. Heck, make it $30; I AM going to go to the fripping County Market for bread and tea, but not today. Must make more progress with the aviation book. Heaved a sigh of relief as I departed the premises and was so charged, I jogged half way fripping home. Factoring in the bank charge for the bounched check, the total coast was $50. That’s two fripping weeks’ worth of groceries for me! CHEESEs, in-fripping-DEED!

BOOM! into the house about 25 after 2p . . . . . . to the cozy fragrance of red hot steel! My coffee water I had left to heat on the stove! Rushed to the kitchen, relieved to see no fire under the bright orange burner. Turned off the heat to the burner, gently lifted the pan off, set it on a cold burner to cool and walked out of the kitchen.,

Called CWLP to be sure I could pay the overdue Friday. Yes.

Back to the kitchen and lifted the lid off the pan I had used to heat coffee water. It was black as shale. When I fauceted a thin stream of water into it, the surface sizzled as though I had just taken it off the stove: formed globules of water that danced like a drunken freelance writer (okay, maybe not quite that bad) and in less than 20 seconds . . . . it cooled down. I thoroughly washed the pan. Still there was/is a flat dark grey patina to the inside that wasn’t there when I started coffee water about 2 pm.

I’ve decided I can live without another cup of coffee for awhile . . . . . . and there’s no tea. Perhaps a refreshing glass of water with ice cubes. Ah luxury!

In the meantime, I’m glad my bank is only two blocks away. If I HAD read the letter from CWLP completely the first time and gone grocery shopping after making the adjustment, I might not have descovered my overheating coffee water in time (CHEESEs, I miss my fripping microwave where I used to heat water for exactly two minutes before the thing turned itself OFF) and I would be posting this blog from a fripping homeless shelter. And that would have caused almost no end of disappointment for my esteemed editor up Chicago way.

I guess even stupidity has a positive outcome now and then. Such is the complaisant harmony of woe.
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Live long . . . . . and proper.