Thursday, October 29, 2015

Karma Appears at 6:37 AM

At 4:07 am, Seth jumped onto my legs and proceeded to march around on my hair to wake me up. He had food. He had water. I made sure of it before I went to bed late last night. The dishes were done. Food was put away. The litter box is not too clumpy. It should have been a decent night. Today should have been a decent day, except for the cat woke me up at 4:07 this morning. 

Now it's 6:37 and Mike is in the kitchen, repeatedly whistling the theme song to 'Monty Python's Flying Circus.' The repetition ensures without doubt that I'll be hearing that song in my head for as much as three or four months. The only thing that could circumvent my horrible fate is if I study, yes I mean study, some other music with as many repetitions when I am as tired as I am today.

I don't have time to study music today. I'm meeting with a friend to do some work I haven't finished. I'm supposed to bring Nick home after school because he still has symptoms of a concussion. God forbid he ride the bus. When did he get too good to ride the bus. Then, because I have the commitment, I'm supposed to go back to school, help cook for the rest of the football team, and haul back home any of the usual boys who might have missed the concept that my boy isn't going to practice and won't be carpooling. My susceptibility to earworms has made more misery added to this day inevitable. My life is a circus anyway. Why not Monty Python?

It can't be any worse than 'La Cucaracha' that swirled in my brain for almost a year when I was in high school or the months at a new job with 'If I Only Had a Brain.' I'm certain that boss never did believe that I did have a brain, though I resisted the urge to whistle or sing that one in her presence. Her fury only accentuated the earworm that season, though I doubt I was the actual cause of her attitude. She's dead now anyway. It was a strange moment when I found out that this incredibly cruel woman had died of pancreatic cancer in a long and drawn-out way after I quit being her minion and told her that I would not stand for having anyone treat me the way she had. Imagine what you would think if you heard a tormentor had been kicked in the gut by karma.

The joy of it was short-lived, though.

So, Mike is in the bedroom now, still whistling my earworm fate for the coming weeks. I wish I could whistle it for you. It's actually a perky little song.

The cat has jumped off the couch and is in the bedroom with him, yowling for him to please stop whistling. The cat hates singing and especially whistling. Maybe it's some frequency I can't hear. Mike hasn't stopped. He's walking out the door, still whistling his cheerful song. The cat is downstairs in the foyer, demanding that he stop this instant. Mike is still whistling.

Maybe it is going to be a decent day. Maybe I've just confirmed a much needed hope that karma is indeed real and every asshole gets his due in the end. I just might spend the day whistling the theme song to 'Monty Python's Flying Circus." Maybe there are a few other assholes I can annoy today.

Thank you for listening, jules

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