I’m having a hard time trying to decide which part of my weekend I should be celebrating.
Was it Friday night’s visit to the local multiplex for a decent feature film [50/50]?
Naaah; cut a little too close to the bone, as it were.
Was it Saturday’s visit to the little-old-lady demented 88-year-old mother?
Naaaah; while it was generally pretty good and happy, you get damned tired of having to break the news to someone that her husband’s been dead for a while [and yes, I know that I should actually “go with” my mother’s dementia and not worry about literal truth – the truth of someone being alive in her head is powerful stuff to her. But when her mind is fixated on bad people having taken away her husband and not letting him be there, no other answer than “dead” seems to get it].
Was it the continuing improvement of the author’s music studio, putting down rugs and placing near-field monitors?
Naaaah; the big rug has to be replaced, and scrubbing hardwood floors on these old knees is not worth celebrating.
Was it the glorious motorcycle ride through crisp but warm-enough autumn breezes, splitting the wind with my corpulent frame and iron horse?
Naaaah; that would be rubbing it in.
I had one great damned weekend. I’m celebrating every bit of it.
And yes, all of the niggling little problems were really there, and are there.
That doesn’t make it any less great.