The First of the Slow Weekends

Mental Rehab Post #36
There are days I think maybe God really likes me. There are other days I'm almost certain that God has a wicked sense of humor. And then there are days I think God went to the bathroom during the commercial break that was sometime in 1700s and is just now walking back in having stopped to make popcorn. I mean, if God can let me imagine it, how wrong could it be?

When I was in college, one Saturday morning I had a conversation with my father that I swear was a dream. My roommates remember me answering the phone however, which lead to a rather comical scene a few minutes later. You see my father had an odd penchant for calling at 7am on Saturday mornings when all good college students are up and ready to chase the day, don't you know. Up until my roommate asked me what my dad wanted, I had regarded the whole episode as a very weird dream. A very vivid hallucination.

I bring that up for no reason at all.

So Saturday I realized that law school really is hazing, but the lawyers write the terminology so they're covered. After reading through cases and laying out the simple parts - well, not simple, the parts of the memo I understand - I moved onto the slightly more difficult parts and realized I had been tricked and bamboozled. The whole basic structure we'd been taught so far doesn't quite match this set of facts. It takes too long to explain here, but what it means is what I know of how to do this is just shy of useless.

So Saturday was spent cursing the heavens. And cleaning my house. I got out a contractor's size garbage bag ( larger than a lawn bag) and got to work. Cleaned up the kitchen, cleaned up the living room, cleaned up dining and room and threw out countless old issues of the Wall Street Journal. Washed clothes, put up my scent diffuser, washed dishes, cleaned out the fridge, swept and swiffered. Cleaned some more, and cleaned up.

Man my house was dirty.

That kick on Friday showed maybe I was a little lower emotionally than I thought. Not a good situation.

Sunday morning, (because describing the continuing cleaning and reading through cases would be boring), I continued with cleaning and read through even more cases. I re-arranged and folded clothing, I tried to figure out transitions and logic, I swept, dusted and washed, and looked for legal standing on due process throughout the ninth circuit. And around four in the afternoon I finally said fuck it, I was going to ride over to my RP's house for a fish fry and chill out for a couple of hours, then get back at it.

And lo and behold, the car won't start. Dead Battery. How's about that for timing?

Spanky shows up and checks out the house, then marvels at my cable TV for few hours. She's mad because apparently, in a shocker, every contractor doesn't have your renovations done in seven days like on Extreme Home Makeover. Golly gosh darn the luck. So she watches the house, and also car (okay she watched my TV with a keen ear for my car), while Tom and I went down Walmart to buy a battery. I mean really, where else was I going to get a car battery at 9pm on a Sunday? God bless America.

I hit my man off with a few bucks for gas, and finally eat dinner at midnight, when I realize I haven't eaten all day.

Now, see if you can spot what's missing from this weekend.

Barkeep. Let me get a glass of the Pinch. Bit of branch water.

What hath Sam wrought?

I'm currently in the process of moving. The major stuff is at the new house, I'm having the usual "I didn't think this would be a problem" snafus but I'm slowly but surely toddling along to home ownership.

Note: One day this is going to say I got mugged outside my house...then we'll see what happens.

Anyway, for the last few days as I move I find myself in the bit of Americana that seems to draw us in despite our best intentions, our best works and best planning. The last few nights I've found myself at of all places....Walmart.

I'm not a big fan of Walmart. Aisle after aisle of semi-shoddy stuff and slightly disinterested workers (except for the older greeters, who really seem to like what they're doing) just doesn't say great shopping experience to me. But I needed a shower curtain at 10:30 at night, and a few towels...and some allergy medicine...and a fresh shirt for work since mine are either in storage or in the cleaners...and soda...and $1 DVDs....and some underwear...and, well you see where this is going?

But in the last couple of days I've been two Walmarts that are as strange as any I've ever been in.

They close.

At midnight, the Walmart closes. Whoever heard of such a thing? I'm used to being able to pop into a Walmart at 2am for some coasters, a ladder and nice watch for $6.99, ya know? But I've been to two Walmarts that actually post closing hours! I quite frankly was stunned.

Now these are relatively urban Walmarts, one of them practically breathing on downtown Atlanta, so maybe there are rules I don't know about. It just struck me as odd.

I'm suddenly not sure if I'm in the Walmart because my AC isn't working (long story) or I just need stuff. Well, I find out tonight.

Barkeep...I think I'll have a whiskey. With a President's Choice soda pop.