Guilt

It's what flows down from the fountains of "should," much like the mystery puddle on top of my refrigerator that I discovered today. (Side note, back track to whenever we had storms here a few days ago; the miniblinds were wet, drops on every fin, mixed with the fuzzy coating of dust, similar to the fuzzy coating of dust on the top of the refrigerator, and the window was only a few inches up, the flowerpots on the sill dry, no leaks from the ceiling, nothing. Only that window.

I hate to be this way, but the only explanation I can fathom would require research from Miller's Paranormal. . .)

Should: be outside enjoying the spring, but work's played a mean practical joke this fool's day and planted another should on my shoulders, "go take photos of such and such church," where such and suchers from suburban sects have come to the unholy inner city to perform community service. I dunno, that's not news to me. Churches are supposed to support each other, I thought.

Now, if they were extending their circle of care and cleaning beyond the churchyard, then we'd have a bit of something.

Not much, but something. And the pile of laundry, sure, that can wait until after sunset, since I'm enjoying an empty house this weekend (but for ghosts and the birds), but yup, I feel guilty that I don't have the appropriate clean clothes required in my interpretation of society in order for me to appear in public.

Especially when part of that public is an unspecified man who coaches a Mexican kids' football (soccer) league in the news 'hood. What is it about me that I'm just not genki about chasing something like that down, when the only thing I have to go on is a vague rendition of the man's name from a co-worker who is sweet but too polite to ask someone how to spell what he didn't understand their saying, and another "should?"

Maybe it's the only thing about me, that I abhor, echew, wish to firebomb and turn hot-flame blue anything remotely resembling an obligation.

I was good, I called my friend today on her birthday and to welcome her new daughter and see how all that was coming along with a husband who so obviously is not on board with his obligations.

I was good, I have been spending time with my other friend who is in town recouperating from a husband's declaration of divorce (for no GOOD reason).

I was good, I called back my dad, whose pet-peeve in life is to be ignored and whose phone conversations require a huge amount of effort on my part.

I was good, I apologized to my husband for all kinds of things, before he left town.

I was good, I came here and told you I should be working, since, surprise, nothing was finished on time at le bureau d'informacion.

Tomorrow, then, there shall be the same work, there shall be friend one, friend two, friend husband, knitting to do, a book to read, and a whole other panopoly of undiscovered shoulds.

The only thing that even remotely strikes me as plausible is to go to the zoo and see the two new tigers and cry with my PMS about how they are locked up in a space not big enough for a stork, much less a glorious single carnivore.

Thus, both "news" and outdoorness will be double birds offed with a single stone.

I still don't have any clean underwear, though, and it's a bit early in the season to be going French.