Yesterday, I had a plan. The plan revolved around upping my word count as I am several thousand from my goal. My self-imposed deadline for getting the completed manuscript sent to the interested literary agents is July. The road to success is paved with good intentions. Too bad yesterday presented a crap ton of pot holes.
First, my mother’s caregiver texted saying she wouldn’t be able to take her to her doctor’s appointment today. Keep in mind she was off most of last week. I told her that wouldn’t work for me and to reschedule. Dismissing that distraction, I typed three words until my mother called me.
“Can you take me to the doctor tomorrow?”
“No, I can’t.” Does she communicate with her caregiver? Christ. On. A. Cracker.
” I really need to go.”
“Well, I am happy to get a replacement from the agency for you.” I say that knowing that she won’t agree to that.
“Forget it.” She hangs up on me and I close my eyes to get back in the zone. Fifteen minutes later, the agency calls to let me know that the caregiver won’t be at her shift today, which, of course, I already knew. At this point, I am wondering why God decided that a career in writing would be a good avenue for me to take, since I can’t seem to complete a sentence let alone a manuscript.
An hour later, my phone rings again. This time it is Bryce asking for my help in constructing an email to his adviser. It’s sweet, really. I love that he still needs me, but it would be awesome if everyone needed me on a day more convenient to me.
Yes, I know I don’t have to answer the phone. But, when you have an elderly mother and a kid away from home, I answer when they call. I sometimes regret answering, but I do it nonetheless. To complete my day, I receive another call from my mother. This time it was around 9 pm which is unusual. So, like a dutiful daughter aka gluten for punishment, I answer.
“I need to go to the place where I purchased my glasses. Something I ordered has come in and I need to go to make sure they work. I told them I would do that tomorrow.” Cue eye roll, heavy sigh, and sentence enhancers running like a marquee in my head.
“I told you that I am unable to accommodate you, so either you get another caregiver or you will have to wait.”
Then she reminds me that she is blind and deaf. (Funny, she can see well enough to tell me I look like crap, but whatever.) Then she hangs up on me, again.
Other people’s emergency’s don’t constitute an emergency for me. The word “no” is a complete sentence and I don’t owe anyone an explanation for why I can’t accommodate their request. In the end, I can’t make everyone happy because, spoiler alert, I am not chocolate or a bottle of wine.