The birds are ripping notes right out of the music of the spheres playlist and Elvis is crowing and the new ferns are new-fern green and the sky is somewhat gray.
So yeah. Okay.
Another day in Lloyd and it's Friday, this day is. I guess today I won't be sitting around waiting for Dr. X to call, huh? Nope. I'll just get on with life, meaning I can take the trash.
I feel so stuck. I feel so stuck that I'm thinking that I could use a fucking career. Hell- it's not too late, right?
Career, career...let's see...career.
That's one of those words that if you look at it long enough begins to look like a word that isn't a word.
What in hell would I do? I'm still hoping for that great gig waiting tables. I could be that mean old waitress who creates eyebrows with Maybelline, who snatches the ketchup away from your hands and says, "You've had enough!" The one whose swollen feet rise up and over her white shoes like cupcakes, overpoured into their little baking cups.
On the other hand, I could maybe have a career in a laundromat, folding laundry. I could see that. I love those basket-things with wheels that you can move your vast amounts of laundry in from washing machine to dryer. I love that they have folding tables. I love the little vending machines with the tiny boxes of Tide.
Yeah. I could do that.
I tell you what- I will NOT be at Cannes this year, not even as Wes Anderson's valet. I found out yesterday that his newest movie, the one I PLEADED with him right here on this blog to have a role in won't be out until May 25. But it's going to open Cannes.
So forget that career making movies with Wes Anderson. Or Bill Murray. Freddy is wrapping up his first feature film and he didn't ask me to be in it but since it's a Christian movie with a Christian theme, that's probably best for both of us. Some Christians offered him some big bucks for distribution and advertising if he'd make that movie and so he did and I am proud of him. Plus, he's a Christian himself, that Freddy, although not a judgy-preachy one and I guess he got that gene. I sure as hell didn't. We love each other anyway.
Anyway, no Cannes-related career for me although I would be proud to be the official Red Carpet Sweeping Woman. Do you suppose they have one of those? Even movie stars must track dirt. Don't you think? And a broom- so much classier than a vacuum cleaner. Also, quieter.
I have a career. I'm the last remaining housewife. And also a grandmother.
I suppose I should clean something. Isn't that what housewives do? Clean? And cook?
Wait a minute- isn't there a bon-bon clause in the housewife contract?
No. There is not. That's just an old housewive's tale.
Lily just called. She found a doctor. He's a family doctor. He'll COME TO THE HOUSE AND DO THE NEWBORN CHECK THERE!
Bless. Bless. Bless.
(His name is Ness.)
I remember when Hank was born and although I'd wanted a home birth and spent something like 28 hours laboring at home, I ended up in the hospital and they did not want to let me come home that same day but I did anyway and the guy who was the pediatric resident at the time was a young hippie-ish doctor and he came to our house the next day and did a follow-up exam on Hank and I'll never forget that. Never, never, never. Thirty-six years ago and I can still remember how grateful I was for his attention and me not having to go anywhere with my bleedy uterus, my starting-to-fill breasts, watching him check my baby's hips, listen to his tiny heart, smiling as he sat on my bed and pronounced my baby perfect.
He went into sports medicine or he'd be my doctor to this day.
I feel all weepy and inadequate today. I suppose that will pass. The birds have taken their choir to another part of Lloyd. Elvis is still crowing. I better put my hair up in curlers, put on my house-dress with some Kleenex in the pocket and go do housewife things such as letting the chickens out and cleaning their nests and taking the trash and doing the laundry and eating bon-bons. And later I'll be taking care of my grandson.
Do they still have soap operas on TV?
Happy Friday, y'all.