Stopped in my tracks

 Part of the problem of giving yourself days off is that the next day eventually comes around and you are faced with a lot to do, not to mention a run-on sentence to beat all other run-on sentences. So it was today. In addition to which, my spontaneous decision to treat myself to a Chinese take-out instead of cooking the steak I had taken out of the freezer had left me with a stomach ache (chicken fried rice, my arse), and the tell-tale signs of steak in fridge. Plus, I hadn’t done much in the way of the tasks I had set myself (and mentioned to Mrs. Ottawacker as the means of putting additional pressure on myself to do them). Why had I mentioned them to Mrs. Ottawacker, I wondered to myself. Now I would have to do them.
 
All this meant I missed watching the Scotland match, so I was not best pleased with myself – and when it came time to drive out to Kanata to pick up the conquering house-clearing heroes (I couldn’t ask John to drop them off at home at the end of a 5-hour drive as that would have added an extra hour onto his trip), I was a trifle curmudgeon-ish. If that is a word. If it isn’t, it should be.
 
I soon learned to put my complaints to the back of my mind, as the tale of woe from the Ottawacker travellers hit home. Not only had they failed to make anything more than a minor dent in the house clearing – clearing out 50+ years of anyone’s life is a hard ask, doing it when you are not sure what is garbage and what is actually a valuable tool is impossible – they had not been able to sleep (strange noises – probably raccoons and mice – and over-tiredness) there was no running water in the house, and the tip was charging $15 per chair, $20 per mattress, etc. etc.). It was an exhausting and expensive couple of days.
 
So, I cooked dinner (there was a lovely steak for them) and then took Ottawacker Jr. to his soccer practice. The day had been filled with rain, but in a strange turn of events it had cleared up for his practice. There was still a chance of thunder (obviously), but I sat in the car reading Clive James’s Glued to the Box and making plans for the summer.