Well, the start of the fall and winter season is upon us. Halloween always comes first, and I usually write a column about little monsters coming to my door begging for goodies or threatening to paper my trees and house if I don't give them anything.
Got to thinking about it. Lately, I have been feeling a little monstrous myself. Deep down inside I really want to break something when it doesn't work any more. Thank heavens I haven't felt that way about any living being yet.
I have never really wanted to break something on purpose in the past. But now. Look out! Maybe it's because this has been a horrendous year for my family. Jay's passing was so quick, it didn't leave us any time for closure or good-byes. My best friend's husband has been battling leukemia for the past two years. Well, he no longer has cancer because of the transplant, but he is still a very sick man. Seems like, on a daily basis, his health changes. I wrote a note on his Web site that he needs to hurry and heal because I don't have anyone to yell at. Dick has always been a good sounding board.
Getting back to the breakage of certain objects. I was making a simple phone call today. Let me rephrase that, I was attempting to make what I thought would be a simple call. After punching in at least 50 numbers and yelling at the mechanical voice on the other end, I happened to notice my dog Sandy's water dish conveniently close to the phone receiver. If I were a normal person, I probably would have slammed the evil device into the water. Oh no, not me. The dish is breakable. I don't want to ruin something out of anger.
I look around the kitchen. How about one of the cabinets? Nope, would dent them and probably cost an arm and a leg to get fixed. The wall? Heck, no. Wallpaper would need to be replaced. Yet another expense.
Eventually, I took the devil's tool out in the yard and flung it at one of our pine trees. It shattered into itty bitty pieces. Did I feel better? Well, yeah, for about 30 seconds. Then for the next half hour, I was picking up itty bitty pieces of plastic and batteries so the birds and squirrels wouldn't mistake them for food and kill themselves.
All you trick-or-treaters planning to knock on my door this year, please yell loudly. If I can't vent without feeling guilty, maybe you can do it for me.
Pat Fickle is a Martinez resident.
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