It was just “one of those weeks.”
It wasn’t that it was a bad week. It was just one of those weeks where there wasn’t enough of me to go around; a week of more things to do than there were hours in the day. A week during which I wished my metabolism ran at the same heightened level as my stress. A week during which I wished I had the same confidence as a bay leaf, strolling into every recipe like “I got this” and absolutely nailing it every time.
It was a week during which I just wished someone, anyone would understand, without asking, the random, very deep breaths I had to take at fairly frequent intervals just to release the anxiety or move through a moment of PTSD or, as I prefer to call it, “spicy déjà vu.”
It was a week in which I finally understood why my grandmother used to say, “I’m just going to go lay down now,” when things got to be too much. It was a week in which I realized that “take a nap” is to the human body what “did you try turning it off and back on again” is to computers and cell phones when it comes to a quick fix.
Somewhere between the deadlines and the interviews and the errands and the care and feeding of my husband and pets and all the other stuff that fills, and occasionally overfills, my wonderful life, I got annoyed.
My annoyance reared its ugly head when it occurred to me that we recognize children need things like months-long summer breaks and several other days-long vacations throughout the rest of the year but we think it makes sense for adults to work for 60 years with maybe two to three weeks off a year. It’s really no wonder, I realized that as we get older so many of us retreat into a “second childhood.”
This week, by Tuesday, which also happened to be Super Tuesday, I was ready to retreat, to being 6-years-old again. I didn’t feel it would be appropriate to feign reduced mental capabilities and my annual trip to Disney Land with my daughter isn’t until next week, so I opted, instead, for a mini adult break and took myself out for a coffee.
While I was waiting for my grande iced brown sugar oat shaken decaf espresso a young woman who had just picked up her order and left the store came rushing back in and put the drink back on the pick-up counter.
She looked a little chagrinned as she told the barista she’d taken the wrong drink then, stepping back from counter with her own drink wondered out loud to no one in particular, “What’s it called when you steal someone else’s coffee?”
Being the nearest person I couldn’t resist answering, “A mugging.”
She just looked at me and walked away. A gentleman standing behind me chuckled and said, “Well I thought it was a good pun.”
At a nearby table a couple of guys, maybe in their early 40s, were sitting across from one another both drinking huge cups of something and working on their laptops when this conversation ensued:
Guy 1, not looking up from his screen: “Did you vote?”
Guy 2, also not looking up from his screen: “Yeah. Mailed in my ballot a week ago. You?”
Guy 1: “Yeah. Same.”
Guy 2: “Do you know what I want? I really want Green Day to write a song about Donald Trump running for president again.”
Guy 1, still not making eye contact: “’American Idiot’s’ been out for about 20 years.”
I busted up laughing. Neither took the slightest notice or looked up from their screens.
I left the coffee shop musing how I used to think adulthood was one crisis after another but maybe I was wrong. Maybe it’s just one week after another with, if you’re lucky, occasional unexpected moments of levity brought to you by complete strangers.
