Many thanks for your book; I shall lose no time reading it.
~Benjamin Disraeli
Today was a Red Letter Day, a Day of Anticipation and Celebration because we not only Got! Mail! We! Got! Package! as well. And, as if one wasn’t enough, three bundles graced my door stoop. The first was the obligatory replacement satellite receiver from Dish Network (Motto: “Happily working unless there is weather then we freeze up like [fill in your favorite “frigid” simile here]). Apparently, during the last storm, some rogue electrons escaped from a nearby lightening strike and tried to abnormally “energize” my receiver. This caused the receiver to become fickle and moody so it’ll only “power up” when it “feels like it” and won’t play recorded programs at all. “I’m tired,” it seems to say as it clicks and grinds through its startup mode. “I guess you can watch Spongebob now but I just don’t have the energy to pull up the new Feasting on Asphalt that you recorded last week. Sorry. …Whirr…Spin…Reboot.” Maybe I should pour some Rockstar Energy Drink into its circuits (Motto: Who needs drugs? We whack you out legally!). Our Adopted Movie Son Harrison (more about him later) turned us on to it, and although I’ve not had the nerve to actually try some, Meghan said it was quite good. Actually I think it went more like: “WOWITSKINDOFLEMONYBUTBOY!DOIFEELFULLOFENERGYANDEXCITEMENTANDMAYBEI’MSEEINGTHINGSORITCOULDBETHATI’VEJUSTSTAYEDUPALLNIGHTANDAMTOTALLYEXHAUSTEDSOEVERYTINGLOOKSFUNNYANDMAKESMELAUGHHAHAHAHAHAH!SOB!
The next box was badly beaten, and with probable good reason: it came from www.flylady.net. Intense whinage has occurred here about this woman in the past and although I continue to moan and groan over her assignments and sink cleaning, I do most of them and they’re making a difference. Finally, after much vacillation I pressed my “widow’s mite” into her altar box of commerce so I, too, could receive the blessings I’ve read about in her deluge of emails (more on that later, too).
But the third box took my breath away. It was large-ish and oddly shaped—as though someone used a container too big for its intended purpose—the address label was white and unassuming. But I knew from whence it came and of what it was full.
“Scared Silly” had arrived.
I was weirdly reticent about opening the box…I’m not sure why…like I didn’t want to know that my thoughts had been reproduced in the manner of cloned sheep or counterfit money to be scrutinized by friends, foes, and experts alike. I opened it last. And tentatively. With almost shaking hands. There they were, two-dozen of ‘em in there, their eyes looking up at me over the brown box edges, their title trailing jauntily, yet earnestly, across the page.
I shut the lid and called my mom.
She wasn’t home so I called Kevin.
“Hey,” I said, doubtfully. “How’s it going?”
“Fine,” he replied. “What’s up?”
“Um…I got my books today.”
“How do they look?"
"There's a lot of stinkin' words in there, Kev."
"That's great! Can't wait to see them."
“Um…yeah. Now what do I do?”
That’s the thing. I should feel elation. Or at least a bit of triumph: It Is Finished. But it’s not, you see. I must now find ways to Get It Out There. I haven’t heard from my publicist so it feels like it’s up to me even though I gave the distribution of this thing to God weeks ago, today I take it back from Him because He isn’t moving any merchandise. Well, I guess He can’t officially because it’s not out until September 3, but that doesn’t matter. It feels like it’s All Up To Me and I Just Don’t Know What To Do.
How weird after trying to not be in the center of stuff for years, I now must try to strategically be in the center of stuff without looking like I’m trying to be at the center of stuff.
I guess I could wait on God, but what if…
Oh, never mind.
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