I might have mentioned that Thursday was the last day of school for the students. And that both boys were off to spend the night elsewhere. And that Farmer H was cooling his heels in a bar somewhere in Massachusetts on business. So I was home alone. Of course I had grand plans for my evening of solitude.
But as usual, the universe conspired against me.
The #1 son was supposed to stay after school on Wednesday to help The Pony stow away a hundred or so of my textbooks. It was a paying proposition. Which #1 conveniently forgot. Hope he understands when he gets expelled from college because I forgot to pay his tuition.
With my room-squaring-away behind schedule, I took it upon myself to get the ball rolling Thursday morning on my plan time. Wouldn't you know it. On the second stack of books that I carried across the room, my lower right back went into spasm. It's not like I had to walk leaning over. But it was a spasm. A painful contraction of the muscle that could only be relieved by sitting down and leaning just the right way. Which did me absolutely no good during graduation rehearsal, when I had to stand for 20 minutes waiting for things to get underway.
In an effort to appease my anger at my back's insolence, I stopped for some gas station chicken on the way home. After turning on my upstairs laptop and internet connection, and gathering all materials needed for a pleasant repast and evening of reading and TV watching, I headed to the basement. Without my personal Sherpa, The Pony, I was laden with supplies. After the descent to my base camp, I still needed to hike to the well and draw water, and venture to the ice house to scrape sawdust off a block of lake ice to cool down my complaining knee. Okay, so in reality, I only had to turn on the faucet in the bathroom next to my office, and walk ten steps to the mini fridge under the stairs for my baggie of knee ice. But it certainly felt more strenuous.
I no sooner sat down to relieve the spasm in my screaming back than I saw that my internet connection had been severed. Without The Pony, swift of foot, to gallop up the stairs and reconnect me, I had to ascend to the summit myself. And descend again to base camp. Where I saw that my connection had once again forsaken me.
I saved my files and did a restart. I hiked back up those 13 steps again to reconnect. After a restart. Then back down. A Pilates workout would have been more restful.
Did I mention that upon arrival at the Mansion, I found that the thermostat had lost its ever-lovin' mind? Because while orchids might revel in this little piece of 74-degree, 99-percent-humidity heaven, Mrs. Hillbilly Mom does not. I had to fiddle and faddle until I got that thing set to hold at 72 degrees. Normally, I have it on 73. But that was not pleasing the ambient temperature gremlins. So I kicked it down.
Mrs. Hillbilly Mom plans. The universe effin' toys with her.