I have a cold.
I've been sneezing and my head has been spinning.
The spinning head is presenting some challenges.
Ambulating around the house is akin to walking on the moon and I'm having difficulty with the putting words into sentences part of life.
Yoga, it goes without mention, has ceased. No way am I going to hang upside down when at the present moment down truly is up.
Thursday night after dinner with wonderful people, Mr. Vincent vomited all over the backseat of Brian's car. Later that night, or maybe early Friday morning, the dog suffered from a large bout of stool incontinence which Brian, to his dismay, was the one to discover.
Friday evening promised to be better.
There was a screening of "The Illusionist" for senior adult movie night at PCCH.
Why am I at senior adult movie night? I am the official popcorn maker and damn proud of it!
Five people were in attendance but the movie was well received by the same seniors who found "The Truman Show" to be confusing.
The night concluded with several glasses of wine and a few friendly rounds of Yamslam!
I won once with 280 points.
Friday into Saturday did not transition as well as I would have liked.
This should have been the omen for things to come, but I don't believe in omens.
I did not sleep at all Friday night. I have what used to be insomnia which has now morphed into constant nightmares. Fun.
(I think I should write a novel based on all my nightmares, they are one continuous story after all)
Saturday morning after the aforementioned sleepless night, I, paranoid and horror stricken, ran downstairs when Mr. Vincent decided to bark at nothing.
Because barking at nothing early in the morning is unusual for him I automatically assumed he had lost control of his bowels once again.
The kitchen was clean and Mr. Vincent looked at me like I was the crazy one disturbing his quiet time.
Several trips to the bathroom for Mr. Vincent proved to be uneventful and I decided to give my paranoia a rest.
Fast forward to 10am.
Brian leaves for a breakfast man-date with a friend of his from Florence.
Vincent and I remain at home.
The front door is locked.
The back door is locked.
I decide to take the dog for a walk hoping that he can finally do his business and I can treat myself to a nice cup of tea, warm fireplace and a good book after all is said and done.
We exit the house through the garage.
We enjoy a 15 minute walk around the development.
All tasks are accomplished. It is time to go home.
I enter the house through the garage and discover ... drum-roll please... the door to the house is locked.
It is cold.
There is a door and about 25 feet between me, my cup of tea, fireplace and whatever book I decide to start reading.
I am not happy.
My dreams are shattered.
What am I to do?
I contemplate my options.
Walk (ha! about 5 miles if not more) to the restaurant where Brian is and ask for the house key?
Perhaps. But I have a dog with me and they won't let both of us in.
Use a neighbors phone to call Brian and ask him to come home and let me in?
I foresee several problems: Brian not answering a number he does not know, Brian not hearing his phone ring, Brian not getting my voicemail until much later. Other problems include but are not limited to: I don't want to cut his time short by interrupting. I don't want to freeze to death in the garage.
I walk next door and ring the bell. No answer. I ring again. No answer.
I don't even bother trying the other neighbors to our left, I know they aren't home.
Resigned to my fate, I sit in the garage (with the garage door closed to preserve what little heat there is) and wait for Brian to get home.
30 minutes later my knight in shinning armor arrives and I am saved from certain death.
What happened, you ask?
The same knight who saved me was the one to place me, albeit unintentionally, into this predicament.
For you see, before he left for his man-date he tinkered with the [house] door to the garage and inadvertently (I am choosing to believe his innocence) locked it.
I have been thawing myself since, and I am still not done.
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