the limits of peace

i can take a lot. having said that, let me say there are limits to what i can take. today, all my buttons are pushed and i'm ready to flip out. because i've had it.

it didn't start out this way, my day. it started out quite lovely actually.

a nice deluge, i walked to the post office from dropping my truck off at the shop. and i don't mind a walk in the rain. i enjoy it, actually. what i do mind is forgetting my house keys in the truck and locking the truck at the shop. then i have to walk back to shop in downpour and retrieve keys, walk back to post office, retrieve child (yes, i left her there. the post office lady kept an eye on her for me). i was soaked like a rat when we got home. but i love a good rainfall.

look at the lovely lily,

i said as we rounded the corner on the way home.

yes,

my girl replied.

so, i get contacted by my school that my digits aren't lining up. so i have to haul my cookies over to the social security office to "fix" the problem.

i retrieve my truck in a lighter rain and fresh duds, only to find there is no discrepancy from what i provided and their records. where these glitches happen, i do not know. so i obtain some stamped papers which i will have to mail in, and go on to the next bureacratic flogging of the day.

though the first lady was kind and genuinely helpful. i was glad.

the next lady. holy hell, she and i had a failure to communicate from the get go.

i haven't lived in a state where you had to produce the registration documentation for over twelve years. well, under, since i've lived here and didn't realize what paperworks i needed.

i'll spare you the details and just say, i wanted to reach across the counter and choke her before i left. i was grateful to get out of there.

i'm home and laundry, clean, fortuantely, is piled around me, i need to sort it all out and fold it and iron it and make the beds. but i just need some time to decompress. so here i am.

something about wanting to write. wanting to feel the keys under my fingers, i don't know if only writers feel this way, but it is incredibly therapeutic for me. caressing keys, banging out poems. it does me good. but to not be able to access that place (i didn't take my journal with me because it was pouring rain and i didn't want to sacrifice it for my comfort). i never go out penless, but i did today. and that was just not right.

so i'm rambling, yes.

but i'm home now. documents in order. peace restored. sort of. and child at play with a neighbor child.

now, i just need to relax a bit and try to regain my composure.
that peaceful easy feeling. i know it won't let me down.