I was beginning to think it was just me:

And then I saw this:

And it was as though that writer from 400 years ago was talking about me. Because that’s exactly what yesterday — and a lot of other days — turned out to be like. It was just one more of those days in a week of “spuddling.”

You know how, when you get up in the morning (or, in my case, around noon-ish), having made a to-do list before turning in last night, you think you’re raring to go. You’ve got the whole day to yourself. You’re going to toss a load of laundry into the washing machine, clean out the fridge, and — time permitting — get those boxes of clothes you haven’t worn for the past two years over to Goodwill. So you head for the bathroom, do whatever it is you do first thing in the a.m., and go to the kitchen for a bit of breakfast.

While you’re eating, you have time to check the 122 email messages that have popped up overnight, deleting all the ones from companies you once bought something from eight years ago who want you back as a customer; the pleas for political contributions that may or may not be from the actual candidates; the reminder from your dentist that you’re six months past due for a cleaning; the offers that start out “Congratulations, you have been chosen …”; Amazon telling you they’ve found something you absolutely, positively must have or you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life; and the extra special ones about medical conditions you probably don’t have, like irritable bowel syndrome, psoriasis, or — my personal favorite — erectile dysfunction. (I’m female . . . okay?)

So, what’s first? Oh, yeah . . . the laundry. But wait a second. What was that news flash about Ukraine, or China, or the White House? Maybe you should take a few minutes to catch up on the day’s news.

Finally, you make it to the laundry room and get the washer going, when you hear the dog whining and you see her standing by the door with her hind legs crossed. So out you go for a little fresh air while the princess sniffs out the only spot in the entire county that is worthy of receiving her poop. Ten minutes ago she couldn’t hold it for another second, but now she has time to check every tree and bush and grassy spot between here and Guam.

And by the time you get back home, you’re hungry again, so you pop into the kitchen to make a sandwich . . . which, of course, you eat while again checking and deleting the 47 new emails that arrived while you were out on poop patrol. As you’re putting the rest of the lunch meat back into the fridge, you remember that you were supposed to be cleaning it out today, but you can’t do it right now because you just have to write something for your blog about that news item you spotted.

However, on your way back to your desk, you realize you’ve snagged a fingernail on something, so you detour to the bathroom to fetch your nail file, and decide you may as well go for the full manicure while you’re at it since your nails have gotten too long to type anyway. That’s kind of annoying, so you turn on the TV to take your mind off the boredom of clipping and filing your nails, and you get involved in this movie you know you’ve seen before but can’t remember how it ends.

Two hours later, as you’re watching the credits roll to try and catch the name of that one actor who looked so familiar, it’s time to fix dinner. What . . . already?!! The fridge hasn’t been cleaned out, the article for your blog isn’t written, the boxes of clothes are still in the corner, the dog is whining again . . . and you realize that you’ve spent the past six hours doing this . . .

. . . and accomplishing next to nothing. So you vow at least to get the blog taken care of after dinner tonight, and tend to the fridge tomorrow. What you need — after cleaning up the dinner dishes and posting a few well-turned paragraphs for your very small handful of readers — is a nice hot shower and a good night’s sleep.

And as you lie back in bed and pull the blankets up to your chin, your eyelids begin to feel heavy, and you’re thinking happy thoughts about all you’re going to accomplish tomorrow, and . . .

OH, SHIT!!! . . . the laundry! It’s still in the washing machine!

But what the hell . . . it will still be there tomorrow. I can give it another rinse before putting it into the dryer . . . right after I clean out the fridge.

*. *. *

Let’s face it: some days are just like that. We all have them. There’s no use agonizing over it; better to go with the flow.

In the words of the immortal Scarlett O’Hara: Tomorrow is another day.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
3/1/25