I was grumpy yesterday. I don't know why, the mood just struck me. Maybe it's the return of the cold weather. I couldn't remember the last time I had felt comfortably warm but figured it was probably on Saturday evening when I was working by the fire with a glass of red wine at my side. I can just imagine myself when I'm old and reminiscing about the good times I had when I wasn't fighting to keep warm
I phoned my dad this morning to tell him I was less grumpy today than I was last night when I talked to him on the phone. Last night I was grumpy because I had missed him calling me to say they were going to Costco and ask if I needed anything--which I did, bread and McIntosh apples. I missed the call this time because my phone was charging and not because it was on vibrate or silent mode at the bottom of one of my bags. I had lost my phone again for about a day last week. I wish there was some way I could put that thing on a lanyard and wear it around my neck. I am also a big fan of mittens on a string if that isn't already obvious.
"I'm grumpy like an old man who didn't get his pudding," I told my dad.
"You're what?"
I explained to him then the scenario of a little old man in a nursing home who waits all day, maybe all week for a dish of pudding with his meal but for some reason does not get it. That little old man, in my mind, would be grumpy. People might laugh and think it's an awfully silly reason to get all bothered over, but for this man pudding is the difference between a good day and a bad day, and that is what I felt like. Grumpy for no real good reason and in need of an afghan because I am cold all the time. Perhaps as you read this though you are thinking someone should check me for a fever because I am sounding delirious.
I had a meeting at the bank today with My Bank Guy. I told him today that I am writing a novel. I mentioned this because we were looking at my investments and I had not yet told him of my early retirement plan that requires me to write a best seller. In case the markets crash again this is my Plan B.
"You have to let me read it when it's done," he said. He was really excited about this project for me.
"Yup." I nodded. Later though I thought about this some more. Maybe it was not wise of me to mention the novel writing project. Would he read this story I am crafting? Would he even be in the section of the bookstore one would find this book in, if it made it to the shelves? Then I started replaying the whole story in my head and letting the internal editor take a critical look at it (so far I've done a pretty good job at keeping that nasty woman locked away in the linen closet where her comments are muffled by fluffy towels). Then I said, STOP! You are telling the story of Character A. It's not even your story anymore, it is Character A's. You're just putting it into words. All that matters is that you tell Character A's story in a way that is respectful and true. And Jillian, you can make paint drying sound interesting, so what makes you think that you can't entertain anyone with this story you're working on now?
After the bank and dinner with my parents I went to the gym for a short run. I figured out today that I could probably do one of those 5k fun runs. They're usually fundraisers for some honourable charity which means I would be paying money to run. Crazy talk. Must be delusional. As I was running today though my knees started aching like someone whacked them with a hammer. I know, I know, I really have to get out and get some proper shoes. Even after the run my knees continued to ache, which made me feel even more like a grumpy old man.
And now I think I would really like a dish of pudding.
Give me your answer, fill in a form
Mine for evermore
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When I'm sixty-four
--The Beatles, When I'm 64
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