Oh, the mundanity!

So yesterday, I swore to myself that I would do yoga first for my poor, aching back, and then I would print and mail Bob’s Book, a manuscript I should have finished typing a long time ago for my best friend’s father whose health is failing and who just wants to see his book in print before he dies.

And did I do the yoga? Or Bob’s Book? No. Of course not. First I had to vacuum because I don’t like to get down on a dirty carpet. But before I could vacuum, I had to move everything possible out of the way. And I might as well make the bed while I’m at it, and declutter a little.

By then my back felt better from all the exercise, so I skipped the yoga and went on the computer to start working on Bob’s Book, which needs repagination and a table of contents before I can print it out and send it to him. I did start working on it, really, but I hit a snag or the phone rang or my oatmeal was ready–or all three–I can’t remember which right now. All three did happen, though not simultaneiously, and I don’t know which one was the culprit that made me [well, not made me--gave me permission, let's say] to surf the web, read email, etc.

From there, it was a slippery slope. In my surfing, I discovered b2evolution, which promises to be the solution to my dilemma of what to do about MT 3, to which I wish I had never upgraded. So of course, I got thoroughly sidetracked playing with my new toy and never got back to Bob’s Book.

At least the carpet is all clean now, so I have no excuse not to do yoga this morning–except my back doesn’t hurt for a change. My head does, though. Why didn’t I shower before bed last night, to remove any traces of fragrance/chemicals from the day? [kicking self] Oh well, it’s fading now. Better wash sheets, etc., today.

Well, if nothing else, writing Morning Pages is showing me exactly how mundane my life has become. However, from another point of view, look at how peaceful it is. Calm. [Well, as calm as a compulsive, nervous wreck like me can be.] There is no drama, and that is good. Drama belongs on stage, screen and literature, not in one’s life. OTOH, life is drama–it’s kind of the definition of drama, you know? So enjoy the peace and quiet, because it won’t last. It never does. Just ask Buddha.

This is the four-day weekend of Comic Con, for which Robby has been waiting ever since the last one. He’s been going every year since he was eleven, thanks to free tickets from my friend Monica Zech.

A couple of days ago, when Robby asked me for money to spend at the convention, I pointed out that if he had a job [which he promised to get when I let him drop out of school and go back to home UNschooling in April], he would have his own money. Also that he should have volunteered at the convention to get his own free tickets, as I had asked him to do several times. And that the tickets from Monica Zech weren’t exactly free–I took her out to dinner last week to thank her for them.

You should have seen him–his head was hanging and he was slumped over–I felt so guilty for making him feel bad that I gave him $40.

So last night on the way home, of course, it was the same thing:

“Mom, we spent all the money.”

“What did you spend it on?”

He runs down the list: a companion puppet for Emily’s Lamb Chop, some comic books–I forget what else.

“Too bad,” I say, “that you won’t have any money to spend for the rest of the weekend.”

Long silence. I peek in the rearview mirror and see Robby’s glum face. Silence continues while I begin to feel guilty. After all, I think to myself, he gets a share of my disability check. Why shouldn’t he have some of it for something this important to him? Do we have to save every penny for college?

Stopping at the store for groceries, I draw $20 out of my account.

“Don’t worry,” I tell him when I get back in the car. “I’ll give you more money.”

“Oh, thank you!”

Robby is so profusely and sincerely grateful and repentant that it feels right. Twenty dollars doesn’t seem nearly enough now. He’s got three days to go, after all.