Terrible Horrible

Yesterday was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, just like Alexander had in the Judith Viorst book that was one of my son’s favorite books when he was little. The only difference — and it is significant — is that Alexander actually had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. He woke up with chewing gum in his hair, he tripped over things, he didn’t get a prize from his cereal box, his dentist found a cavity in his mouth, and so forth. You get it. He had a bad day.

I actually didn’t have a bad day, but was incredibly crabby nonetheless. The last time I cried as often for no apparent reason, I was 12 years old and my mom desperately explained the female reproductive process to me figuring I was going to get my period any second. Bill didn’t try explaining the facts of life to me; he just went up into our bedroom, closed the door, and worked on replacing drywall where the window installers had removed it, humming loudly.

I finally owned up to my crabbiness in the afternoon when I was reading my daily Nextdoor post. Many of you might recognize that Nextdoor is a nationwide social networking site for neighborhoods. Its goal, I think, is to allow courteous discussions among neighbors, including restaurant recommendations, recommendations for services such as plumbers and painters, alerts as to issues in the neighborhood, and so forth. At least once a day — and usually more — I receive a Nextdoor feed with interesting information.

I mostly like Nextdoor. It has been useful to me on a number of occasions. One day when I was in AZ, I got a Nextdoor alert that there was a water main break in our Denver neighborhood. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was right in front of our house. I was able to alert friends and family, who checked to make sure our house was not impacted. That’s pretty cool, considering I was 900 miles away.

I have also used it to obtain recommendations on such things as hair stylists and house painters. Two thumbs up!

Yesterday, I got a notice from a Nextdoor neighbor that shots had been heard at 2 o’clock yesterday morning in our ‘hood. Have you ever played Pixie Stix? You know, the game where you pull out plastic sticks from a pile one-by-one until finally the pile collapses. Well, the Nextdoor notice about gunshots was that final plastic stick.

Why-oh-why do people hear gunshots so often in our neighborhood? It’s reported on Nextdoor so frequently that you would think we live on the south side of Chicago with Bad, Bad Leroy Brown. And why does everyone else hear them and I never do? Me, whose sleep pattern is so messed up these days that I hear when my neighbor flushes her toilet!

Well, practically.

The fact that I was so very annoyed by this poor woman’s concern that she heard gunshots (which I’m convinced was not gunshots but simply fireworks given that things always seem worse at night) demonstrates just how cranky I was yesterday. It rather brought me to my senses.

Here’s what I did. I looked at these photos…..

…..and then I turned on television and watched Midsommer Murders.

And I felt better.

Today is a good day.

5 thoughts on “Terrible Horrible

  1. You’re entitled to a funk every now and again! Your remedy is quite good. Better days will come. And I must say the Alexander book is one of my favorite children’s books, curmugeon that I am.

  2. Grandkids, even just in pictures, are great for giving you a warm, fuzzy feeling. Makes the funk go away. I’m with Kak. I love the Alexander book. We read it often when my boys were growing up.

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