This moment of neurosis brought to you by the voice mail I left for a stranger about a stove they are giving away on craigslist in which I may or may not have said “…if it’s gone, then you don’t have to call me back, but I’ll talk to you later, or I won’t. You can call me anytime, unless you don’t have to. Well, I guess I’ll talk to you soon, or not, have a great day, thanks, bye bye!” It was all very halting and awkward. I blushed when I hung up. I curled up on the floor and prayed that they gave the stove away so that they don’t call back so that I don’t have to talk to them ever again. I’m certain they won’t call back because I sounded like one of those “I’m not really calling about the stove” weirdos you hear about on the news.
After dropping Simeon off at visitation the other day, I went to a store and put Zeb in the umbrealla stroller. In my defense, the store was packed to the brim, but I as I was browsing, I kept running Zeb into displays and once, while I was looking at the display beside me, ran him right into an employee. Whoops!
When Leo and I were both without jobs and wondering what to do next, we would take entire days, sun up to sun down, in silence and solitude. It was blissful. Those were a few days I didn’t say something moronic, or embarrass myself by tripping over my words, or my own feet, or doing the splits, or knocking over store displays, or sobbing and pee stained in darkened parking lots, etc.
I like spending the whole day in my pjs and bathing only twice a week. I like being fodder for neighborhood gossip. I’m the woman who comes out to get mail in my pjs with a toddler clinging tightly to his sippy cup thrown over my shoulder while a crazed three year old in reindeer slippers and a superhero mask takes laps around the yard.
Yup, that’s where I’m comfortable.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get the mail. It is my duty to the neighborhood, and I will not let them down.