I made good use of my time today. I took down my son's crib and assembled his toddler bed. This may sound like a simple task. It wasn't. I am not a handy guy. I own a hammer and crescent wrench and screwdriver. I even have a staple gun. That doesn't mean I use these implements well or often. My father is a licensed master plumber. So are all my brothers and my oldest sister. They are handy people. Being handy is not genetic unfortunately. I can diagram a sentence. I cannot follow a map, and I sure don't do written instructions. (Christmas is the most terrifying day of the year for me. I hold my breath every time my kids open a present, praying it isn't labeled "some assembly required.")
Well, it took me about 45 minutes to take apart the crib. The toddler bed was missing bolts and nuts. I had to call in the troops for that one. Yes, I asked my daddy for help. My father has so many nuts and bolts in jars that I knew he would be able to help me out. I was not disappointed. An hour later, my son's toddler bed was done, and I was feeling slightly handy.
This evening, I helped my dad install an air conditioner in his home. That's right. I said an air conditioner. My dad is in his eighties, so he doesn't have the strength to lift heavy things like he used to. I provided the strength. For once, I was the brawn, not the brains.
In fact, writing this post is probably the first time I've taxed my intellect/creativity all day. I've enjoyed being "the man" of the house. I wouldn't want to do it every day, but it's nice to feel useful.
I am not looking forward to going back to work tomorrow morning. It's going to be a very rough morning. I've got a two liter of Diet Mountain Dew in the fridge. That will get me through the first few hours at the office. After that, all bets are off. It would be different if I actually enjoyed my work. I don't, but it pays some of the bills and provides medical insurance.
My question this Monday evening for J. D. Salinger is pretty simple:
Am I going to enjoy my first day back at work?
And the answer from Catcher is:
...He started talking in this very monotonous voice and picking at all his pimples. I dropped about a thousand hints, but I couldn't get rid of him...
OK, that's disgusting, and it doesn't bode well for work tomorrow. I have a feeling it's going to be a tough, long day.
But Saint Marty will try to make the best of a bad situation. Maybe he'll call in sick.
|I will never wear one of these|