Dear reader, I have this weird thing wherein I start feeling anxious if I don't update my blog after a few days...usually it stems from a need to write, but sometimes it stems from a fear my little brother is about to mean text me.
In this case, it stems from wondering how long I can leave up a picture of Keats before someone emails to say it was the first thing she saw that morning and now it's ruined her breakfast.
Which would be perplexing to me, since Keats is the first thing I try to see in the morning. It's like a great little spy game, trying to find him in his habitat. If he happens to be sitting on the soil, forget about it. That guy is invisible.
You'll be happy to know my bout with illness is over, the only symptom left being my limp and pallid body. It's been a strange, shimmery past few days, but I still managed to get out and wander through the desert. Let me tell you, there's nothing like having a low grade fever and being out in the middle of nowhere to spark a few deeply disturbing hallucinations...at least I hope that's what they were.
Also, I missed church...which, and perhaps this is better kept to myself, has the weird effect of making me feel significant. Kind of like when I was a kid and had to stay home from school for similar reasons: hey everyone, look at me: I'm sick enough to be missing this!
The only problem was, I failed to savor the moment because I slept through the entire thing, thus robbing me of knowing I was missing church and wondering whether or not anyone missed me or if things ground to a halt because I wasn't there.
Don't worry, I plan to remedy all that by asking my husband to write me a note of excuse for when I return next week. Who will I hand it to? I don't know. Surely someone is in charge of taking the attendance and will read it out over the pulpit.
Yesterday found me back at the car dealership, addressing an issue which should have been taken care of when I was there several days ago. Was I terse and snippety, did I cop an attitude? No, because the guy who helped me was named Celestino, and that right there charmed me from the get go.
No matter what, though, I wouldn't have been terse and snippety. Not because I wasn't annoyed, mind you, but because I don't pull off terse and snippety very well. It's a special talent, that attitude, and if you don't have it then I recommend steering clear, because an amateur's attempt will only make you look like a complete and total fool.
There are now a million and ONE reasons I love that kid.
And not five minutes later, this came from my sister, who was at the park with her children.
Thank you, universe, for making my time at the car dealership so unexpectedly more meaningful (don't read sarcasm into that).
But the craziest part was, as I sat at an outdoor table not being incinerated by the sun (which is how you know it's autumn in Las Vegas), I heard a rustling sound behind me and looked over my shoulder to behold...another little old man!
How is that possible? He came out out of nowhere with the stealth of a leprechaun!
I sat there a moment, racking my brains for a way to make myself sneeze but couldn't pull it off, so finally I turned around and struck up a conversation with him myself.