Saturday, January 17, 2015

A Deep and Abiding Sense of Dread

I awoke this morning with a deep and abiding sense of dread. I couldn't quite pinpoint its source, so I gave myself a multiple choice quiz to try to get to the bottom of it.  This feeling originates with:

(a) The ten billionth day of consecutive 42 degrees and sideways rain in Juneau.

(b) The fact that I received 800 pages of documents from opposing counsel in my in-box at 10:19 p.m. last night, and didn't open a single one for fear of compounding the aforementioned deep and abiding sense of dread.

(c) The fact that Geoff took both kids skiing and I finally have two hours in the house to myself, but instead of doing anything productive like cleaning or dishes or laundry, I am sitting here writing a fake multiple choice quiz and staring blankly out the window.

(d) The fact that I invited an infinite number of children to my house this afternoon for Paige's birthday (a home with a finite number of square feet, I might add); and it remains to be seen if the structure itself will still be standing at the end of the day.

(e) All of the above.

After giving myself this quiz, I decided the answer was (e), all of the above. So the next logical question is what to do about it. Obviously, that means another quiz. I probably need to:

(a) Eat an English muffin drenched in butter and go back to sleep after briefly considering and then rejecting the alternatives of (a)(1) masturbation; (a)(2) another cup of coffee; or (a)(3) early morning intoxication.

(b) Scrutinize pictures on Facebook of people's trips to the mountains of Peru and the beaches of Columbia and feel sorry for myself that I have neither touched warm sand nor donned a bathing suit in years.

(c) Stare at myself in the mirror for a very long time, carefully examining and cataloguing each and every one of my physical flaws until I become disgusted both with the flaws themselves and with the act of cataloguing them.

(d) Make a half-hearted attempt to shift deck chairs on the Titanic of the shit hole mess that is my house, and that will inevitably become a bigger shit hole once it hits the iceberg of xxx number of six and seven-year old girls who are sure to do to it what Steven Spielberg's Gremlins did to New York City once unleashed on humanity.

(e) All of the above.

Again, the answer is (e).

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