I'm OK with imperfect, but please let my toilet flush

Written last night:

Today I was so wrapped up in work that I forgot a 4 p.m. appointment. 

It was for a massage — I’ve already had two Sacramento massages, concentrating on my leg. I don’t know if it “cures” anything, but it cures me. Anyway, I remembered 10 minutes before I was supposed to be there. “I’m sorry; I screwed up,” I said on the phone.  I gladly sent a check for the missed appointment; somehow I feel good about the whole thing because I’m finally learning I’m imperfect. Perfection leads a narrow life.  And next week: a massage! Thanks, Bryan!

All day I worked and worked and worked: I want to clarify the status of monthly debits and credits that I’ve been working to understand for months. Or, to put it another way: I want life to be stable again. A couple of the phone calls took almost an hour each.

Something has overtaken me; I want to have a routine household ASAP. No more stuff in flux! Do you hear that, Zing? You’ve got to get a pee schedule! And I’ve got to get some lightbulbs for the bathroom. 

Also, my toilets don’t flush right. That’s pretty basic. I Googled the problem and this afternoon went to Home Depot for the gloves and porcelain cleaner and tiny mirror that’s supposed to solve the problem. All of you who have a solid flush, rejoice! There are some of us who envy you.  

On my way back from Home Depot I got lost. I took the wrong road home.  Twice. But I finally got here. Getting lost is one way to learn my way around town.

Home Depot is part of a spread called Natomas, which is just 10 minutes from here  — It’s where all the big box stores live. After shopping, I was pulling onto busy Truxel Road. around 4:30 p.m. A woman in a bright patterned skirt stood at a corner with a beggar’s sign and a baby. She was so close to the road it looked dangerous. 

Which reminds me that yesterday I got a call as Zing and I were walking along 5th Street. It was about my washer, so of course I had to take it, even though the busy traffic made hearing hard. So I stepped into a cubicle, a building indentation along the sidewalk. It’s the kind of place a homeless person might sleep at night, open on one side with walls on the three others. The inset was only a few inches — maybe 10 — but it was quieter in there. Even though the street was a sidewalk away, I felt peaceful. I see why the homeless claim niches like this for the night. 

Love,
k