A Wednesday Masquerading as a Monday

I was once told that everyone has a story. That may be true, but some people’s stories are better than others. For example, let me tell you the story of my day. I leave it to you, dear reader, to judge its goodness.

 I woke up in a panicked dread. Not a great way to start a morning, let alone a year. This particular dream was frolicking in my real-life dread of transferring to a university I’m not all that enthused to attend. But more on that later.

So, up I jumped to see that the clock read late-thirty and thus began my real-life panic. Hurrah. Coffee, shower, coffee, hair, coffee, clothes, coffeecoffeecoffee. The holidays wrought havoc on my tenuous control on a morning routine.

In all the hustle, I didn’t really have time to throw together a respectable lunch for that appetite which I don’t respect at 8am but dearly fear at 1pm. Pumpkin PAH-sties made it in the bag, along with some peanut butter, string cheese and grapefruit. But when I skidded into work (looking fabulous for late-thirty), this bit of nonsense was waiting for me:

Yes. ‘Round here we call that a “hoard” of candy. Look closely and you’ll see organge KitKats. I know, craziness! To answer your question, no, they’re not that good. Shame. The giant candy cane that could be easily weaponized cracks me up.

The Ghosts of Christmas Past, holiday candy haunts the office ostensibly looking as fresh as it did two weeks ago. You can’t walk two feet without identifying something dressed up in red cellophane and surely chocolate covered. So, go ahead and ask me how that poorly packed lunch worked out.

Well, I’ll tell you. I carefully timed my chocolate snackage so that my blood sugar wouldn't ever truly fall and I wouldn't know how hungry I actually was. It’s a skill, thank you very much.

As I studiously worked at my desk and rationed out my chocolate intake, my phone would periodically chime its inoffensive mild chime to tell me that it’s my move in Words with Friends. Actually, Words with Dad. It makes me smile to see that it’s my dad, my 66 year old dad who cannot use a computer, who has completed his turn in the Words game on his newly-acquired iPad. It was an out-of-left field Christmas gift and I've spent several nights talking myself hoarse teaching him how to use it.

Last night I introduced him to the 21^st century version of Scrabble. We sat across the kitchen table from each other, on our respective iDevices, and tapped and swiped and dragged the letters into words. For points.

Our game continues to this evening so that delightful, inoffensive chime continues. This Grinch’s heart has grown two sizes since my dad got his iPad. Swelled with pride, I see his emails come in, participating in a conversation conducted over long distances, without preamble and with the aid of photos. Participating in a conversation about potential new glasses, he shares his opinion (he doesn't like them) and take the time to tap out suggestions for colors and shapes. And tonight, we casually play Scrabble over the incredible feat of touch screens and wireless internet. This human’s experience just got a little richer.

And thus, dear reader, concludes the Story of Today. I sit now with a fluffy warm cat on my lap and contemplate improving tomorrow’s lunch.