by Patricia Paris
posted February 24, 2008
 Patricia Paris |
As usual, my day began with farsightedness but on this day it was the forerunner of calamity. I awoke with a sense of foreboding, of being late before I began. I squinted at the digital clock with dread and was surprised at the blurry cool lime display which read ten minutes before six. I wasn't late after all; I had awakened ten minutes early.
As I followed the aroma of coffee to the kitchen, I was grateful that I didn't have to rush and that I had been spared the alarm. I made a mental note to switch the 'nature sounds' alarm clock from the croaking night jungle punctuated with chimpanzee screeches. Surely the rise and fall of a rhythmic ebb tide or the steady drumming of summer rain would be less nerve jangling and allow me to enter gently into each new day rather than levitating straight into them.
About an hour later and well into a second cup of coffee, I reached for the remote control to catch the morning news. At that precise moment, a monkey shrieked, followed by an excited macaw, and a jungle deep in the Amazon came to life in a corner of my bedroom. I startled and almost dropped the remote, and was again reminded to switch the alarm to more soothing nature sounds.
It was 6 a.m. Today's squint had misread the lime numbers on the clock and I had missed an hour's sleep.
Several years ago, my arms seemed to gradually shorten to where I couldn't read the newspaper because I couldn't hold it far enough away. I slowly evolved into a far-sighted person. Since that time, certain ordinary tasks have become chores.
Make-up is now applied in Braille. Squinting into a mirror, I dab blindly with creams and lotions and hope none has coated my collar or hair. I brush at my face until twin splotches of peachy color appear in the mirror. Mascara is applied where I assume my lashes to be on that particular day. Eye liner can get real tricky.
On the 10-mile drive to work this morning, I hit every red light. I thought about the swirling oolong leaves while sitting at one of them and feeling the squeal of an old wiper blade in those sensitive spots just behind my ears, the way one 'feels' chalk dragging across a chalkboard.
It was also the kind of day that would require the cooperation of others to get anything accomplished and, though I was off to a rough start, for the rest of the day, the other half would fall even shorter.
As an example, after an hour of pacing and waiting for a crucial fax, I phoned the other party, only to be told they couldn't send any faxes to anyone because the ink cartridge had run out. Think about that one for a minute and you'll understand better why I, sleep deprived and so caffeinated that I was hopping around like a Mexican jumping bean, muttered three Hail Marys and poured another cup of coffee.
I wondered aloud if she corrected typos on her computer screen with white-out.
At noon, I took a break and drove to the bank, opting for the shortest drive-up lane. Twenty minutes later, the other lines had moved on and I was still stuck behind the loud customer with multiple issues.
I thought about the recent eclipse and how early Earthlings had cowered in fear when the moon disappeared from the sky.
At the end of the rainy, gone wrong work day, I gathered a large bag of paper for recycling and hastened towards my car in a cold, blowing mist that you felt rather than saw. Halfway there, the bag split and bits and pieces of paper quickly spread over at least thirty square feet of wet asphalt. I thought of the oolong leaves again but decided a handful of tea leaves couldn't be that powerful. It must have been the eclipse. Only an event so powerful the moon could disappear from the heavens could have brought about such a day.
Sometime later, I wiped the foamy drivel from my mouth and pulled away from the parking lot. As I stopped at the first red light, I sighed and scanned the radio. It was going to take a long time to get home.
Copyright 2008 Patricia Paris
Contact: PatriciaParis@gmail.com
Patricia Paris is an author/columnist from East Tennessee
Member: Tennessee Mountain Writers, Int'l Women Writers Association, Tennessee Writers Alliance, Chattanooga Writers Guild
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