Those Days

[mrissa]

It has been one of Those Days. The piano tuner was an hour late. timprov's (utterly necessary) prescription wasn't available at the pharmacy. People who were scheduled to do things Saturday and yesterday popped up suddenly to do them today. I left my library book at the bank and had to go back for it. When the piano tuner did get here, she couldn't tune my piano at all because it is broken. I have cramps. There is a button off my green coat, which is a beast to mend because of the thickness of the wool. My soft olive green sweater has gone holey in the back, and I don't know if my mom will be able to fix it. The dog has been upset all day because there are monkeys on the roof next door, and while she's not barking at them all the time, she's pretty sure there are not supposed to be monkeys on the roof.

But! In the midst of all this, I was writing an e-mail, and the piano tuner finished tuning timprov's piano and played it a bit. And it sounded like a piano again, not a jangly collection of strings. And something in my neck unkinked: ahhh. There. Piano. Yes. And I arranged with the piano tuner to repair my piano in early December, and she showed me a jar my great-grandmother used to keep in the piano to keep it from going too dry in the winters.

And the chicken is thawing and the wine is chilling, and timprov's meds will be ready for pickup soon, and really, all in all, it could be a lot worse. Even if the rest of the day doesn't go as planned, it will be all right.

Comments

[von-krag.livejournal.com]

"it will be all right."

I cling to this. I admit I wonder sometimes.

[mrissa.livejournal.com]

We're allowed to wonder sometimes. Some days are Like That.