and the balls came tumbling down

 

Good morning idiot Lucia. You just wrote your daughter a nice part in the Christmas pageant, getting her all excited to act on stage with her Daddy, and you neglected to note that you and Nora won’t be in town. Nice. Now she’s going to cry and the church is freaking out, suddenly needing a director and an eight year old actor.

 

Also, despite the fact you feel really good, you got on a scale that told you only seven pounds were lost, not ten, and what did you do? You went home and ate cheese and crackers. Great solution. Now you feel like crap and you have sores all over your body.

 

Even the maid service is angry because you’ve had to jig the schedule a few times around your theatre.

 

And the mouse is back. The Algerians are going to love that.

 

Fuck.

 

That’s really all I have to say today.

 

Not every day is spiritually elevated. I know it should be. But it isn’t.

 

(an hour later)

I phone Nora and with dread, tell her about the pageant. She says, “So, the choice is between Christmas with my cousins or doing the pageant? Well, I’ve been in a couple of plays already and you can always write me another part. Plus, Daddy just gave me hot chocolate. So…I’m disappointed but it’s okay, Mom.”

Cheerful as a ladybug.

And I have three options for a child replacement and a second in command director lined up.

That gentle Spirit I know so well said something akin to “Lucia, you have six jobs right now. It’s understandable a ball would drop. So you had one bad day. So you blew it. And it wasn’t even a whole bad day. It was only a few bad hours. It doesn’t mean you should (insert image of Robert Deniro as the monk in The Mission, dragging stones and chains on his legs while climbing a mountain in penance) (the Spirit does not always use words) And then, I daresay, the Spirit chuckled rather condescendingly and patted me on the head.

It’s a little unnerving how quickly things can be just fine again.