It has been a strange week. Normally I write this column on a Thursday, a nice, relaxing day—no pressure. Usually Cranky Whiny and Punch have engaged in some sort of hijinks—a soccer mishap or a bake-sale fiasco—but for some reason, this week was different. I was out of gas—literally and figuratively: I had no column and my car ran out of gas (I say that like it’s my car’s fault). Now, normally when life hands me lemons…but not today.
When Friday rolled around, I still had nothing. Cranky was invited to a homecoming dance, Whiny was hitting a haunted house, Punch was going to his first league dance; but still, no light bulb. Well, there’s always Saturday, I calmed my panic, I will write on Saturday…
Saturday, as it happens, was my high school reunion. Surely, that would be the source of some inspiration—reconnecting, aging gracefully, the circle of life...nothing. Well, there’s always Sunday, the Lord’s day, surely inspiration will strike. The only thing that struck that day was a misplaced soccer kick to Punch’s foot and an afternoon of X-rays. I’ve already written about the trip to Urgent Care. Is it worth a visit from child services to get a darned article? I pondered it.
Then Monday rolled around—it’s go time. I parked in front of my keyboard and stared at my computer screen. Write, d@mn it. Write something, anything. Write a trivia quiz or something snarky about movie sequels and remakes, but my fingers just wouldn’t hit the keys. And that’s when I got a text from Cranky: Mom, I think I’m going to throw up. So I picked her up from school, parked her on the couch with a 7-Up, remembered Whiny needed to be at the eye doctor in an hour, and Punch needed a follow-up exam for his foot—and I apparently needed some sort of mood stabilizer. In the end, I had 35 minutes to do what I had six days to complete. Hopefully, I learned my lesson. Truth be told, I’m a fan of procrastination--it’s one of the few things I don’t put off.