Notes From the Loony Bin

Stress.

I don't handle it well.

The pool pump gave up the ghost with a very loud bang this weekend.

While I was home alone.

A few feet from my ear. Outside my sewing room. Where I was sitting at the time

Causing my heart to momentarily stop.

In a word, stress.

Like cannon fire.

BOOM!

One loud and ominous bang!

I looked out the window in consternation. Old Faithful was spewing skywards---from the pool pump. I ran in circles, like a chicken with its head cut off, for just a few seconds, before some straggler of a brain cell told me

"Quick! Turn off the pump!"

A wall of water blocked my way---but, like a good chicken, I ran around from the other side, found the switches and turned them off. Old Faithful calmed instantly.

Whew! Thinking under pressure! Little Blister would be proud!

The menfolk returned from golf and stroked their chins.

Then one went to the airport and one off to school.

Leaving me to make phone calls, trying to sound confident and knowledgeable, so some charlatan won't get a gleam in his eye and think

"Aha! A pigeon, ripe for the plucking!"

Because pool pump parts are not cheap.

And Charlatans have a very strong union in these here parts.

Monday morning I had to go to work [avoidance tactic #1] I can't make difficult phone calls if I'm at work. See Molly smile!. Unfortunately I have lovely hours and was home by three. Plenty of time to make the dreaded phone calls. Hmmm.....

So, bracing myself, I made the calls, in great trepidation, being careful to sound like I knew all about lids and bands and filters and what-nots. It all made me want to curl up in a corner with my blankie. Make the world go away please....lalalalalalala!  I told them I was just getting prices and would call them on the morrow.

Now it is the morrow. The OC is still up north. The Bean is still in school. I stand in my sewing room and think frantically

  "I need to sew something!"

"No you don't!" declares a voice in my head, crossly.

"You need to grow some balls and make those calls!"

But, but, but I don't want to grow balls! Apart from the fact that it would be biologically impossible.... I want to sew....or, or, maybe I could make some cinnamon rolls? It's ages since I made any of those. Wouldn't that be nice? Mmmmmmm! Warm cinnamon buns...can't you just smell them? Divine! I even know where to get a great recipe!"

Cross Voice, losing patience fast, says " You need to focus and quit quibbling. The pool is the problem. It needs to be fixed. It needs to be fixed now. And you, Madam, need to do it!"

"But, but, its not fair! I'm not genetically wired for this."

Plucked as an innocent from the bogs of Ireland,  I'm wired for long walks over the hills,  making quilts,  dreaming, scribbling, baking and cooking and growing things, with  lots of help from the Bean, granted. I'm a persona non grata at the moment because the weeds have taken over the vegetable garden  he worked so hard to prepare for me, and I've done nothing about it---because---it's been too bloody hot here! Which is why I should get myself re-wired so I can tackle all this pool fixing nonsense [so people can jump in and cool off.]

Maybe I should call the Little Blister? [avoidance tactic #3]

Maybe I should go for a prolonged visit with her? [tactic#4] Back to where I can handle what life throws my way?  We sneaked, behind my mother's back, to the river at Corbally to cool off, in the summers when we were young. No pool pumps needed. It's been ages since we walked across the Burren together. Or walked along the Rine when the tide was out. And we're not getting any younger.

Now that I've decided which company to go with, the guy is taking his sweet [donkey] time about calling me back. Eating into my sewing, cooking, and cinnamon bun baking time.

I think I'll go make them anyway, while I'm waiting. Stay tuned.....