Thick of it . . .

I've never really been able to write in the middle of confused emotions. However, here I'll try.
Yesterday, just as I was settling in for a day's work, I got a call from my lawyer's secretary. She's about 80. Same vintage as my Dad. He quite likes her.

"We've got a big package for you here from the other side. I was going to send it out on Friday, but it was so busy, I didn't have a chance. And it's heavy. You'd better come and pick it up."

I said okay and mentally jogged through my day wondering when to make the trek downtown. After my new yogaish class at noon. I called E's cell.

"This is exactly what I asked him not to do, just forward things unmediated to me so that I'm left to deal with all the crap and the anxiety on my own," I fumed.

My lawyer, as I may have mentioned, is on vacation until June 21st. During our almost-break-up, I specifically asked him not to send things to me with an FYI and no direction. So much for that.

"Do you mind coming over and reading it with me, since you'll be around?" I asked, "It is sure to be full of slander and lies and . . . "

"It's okay, sweetie. I'll be there."

The great thing about E is that he is empathetic. My ex didn't even know that word.

Anyway, my morning was shot. I did some work, but in the midst of muttering and fuming, until finally it was time to go to the class that I thought might be a reasonable replacement for my regular yoga fix. It wasn't. It was miked, it was busy, it was exercise, and it bore no resemblance to the calm, focused classes of my yoga past. However, here I am now on the outskirts of downtown and the one reasonable yoga place nearby is too far to walk and slightly too expensive, so.

After the class, I jumped in Bluebelle and headed downtown. I circled and parked, rushed down Elgin, hurried into the elevator (I had 20 minutes on the meter) and up to the law office. I told them I was there to pick up a large package. I thought it might be a box. I watched as the pale blond 70-year-old secretary picked up an eight by ten envelop that was slightly stuffed and handed it to me.

"Big package," I muttered as I took it and left.

My bad mood continued. I made it back to the car (no ticket), and then home, where I threw together a barley and chicken salad minutes before E arrived.

. . . A is calling . . . to be continued . . .