Pieces of Me

It is sometimes easy to think of myself as a rock-solid, laser-focused uber-teacher who has all her ducks in a row (how's that for mixed metaphors?) when life has a way of revealing to me that at heart I can be a real space cadet.  As my genius plan for the day has completely imploded, I write.

I was to drive in for an overnight in Austin early with two hours to spare before getting a cavity filled by my dentist.  I would drop off my bags at my friend's house and head to the Starbucks closest to my dentist to work on a boring school curriculum course I am woefully behind in.

What really happened was this:  I slept fitfully the night before, delaying my wake-up time by two hours.  After dreaming of a school cafeteria-turned wedding reception and an obese man with a dark past who had the hots for me, I woke with the refrain of some silly song called "Big Brother."  That's my excuse.  In reality, I've become unused to getting up on time.  In my natural state, 10 hours of sleep is ideal.

I realized I'd have to hurry if I was going to get a workout in and get on the road to reach Austin before lunch traffic hit.  To my credit, I rocked a strength training workout, hitting all major muscle groups in half an hour and returned to my Grandpa's, where I'm staying, to pack.  I was nearly ready to go when my Grandpa needed my help to scan a couple documents.  Sounds simple enough--except that I am a classic gal in a techno world who gets through most computer stuff by playing the odds and praying.  After both of us fuddled around with the scanner for some time I asked him to let me have a crack at it.  By sheer fluke or God's mercy I found a scan wizard and scanned two measly pages, 15 minutes later. 

Finally out the door, I sped off, only to reach a stop sign, jog my brain, and drive back from whence I came to grab forgotten medication.  On the way back out the door my grandpa jokingly asked me if I had my license handy.  "Yes sir," I replied, irritated at myself that I afforded amusement.

Following the medication incident, I hit the highway, impatient and irritated that I was now an hour behind schedule.  I aggressively (but carefully) whisked around incredibly slow drivers creeping ten miles under the speed limit (usually mini-vans).  Eventually reaching my friend's house, I dropped off all but my laptop to bring with me to the Starbucks near my dentist for some serious work.  Upon reaching the Starbucks after first driving past it and backtracking, I realized I had left my laptop charger at my friend's house; my ancient pc only lasts 5 minutes without a charger.  So, scratch the idea of useful work.  I asked for rudimentary pen and paper, and wrote (people say my cursive is beautiful).

I reached my dentist at exactly 2:30pm, the allotted time for my cavity filling.  Except that I had gotten the time wrong and they had been trying to call me since 2:00 when I should have been there!  I profusely apologized and chalked it up to the comedy of errors that had been my day.  They couldn't have been nicer.  With a numbed lip I headed back to my friend's house to put some makeup on my unresponsive face before heading to dinner at my friends' house. 

Backing out of the parking lot, dutifully checking behind me for cars, Wham!  I crunched into two squatty white poles guarding a fire hydrant (also squatty).  I glanced at a passer-by who winced when she saw the impact.  I figured her face portended no good and rushed out to face the damage.  My back bumper was off its rocker with a huge corner covered in white paint complemented by a jagged tear running up the side.  This will make bumper #4 when I get it replaced.  At this point I do not even berate myself, as I have become completely inured to fender-benders. 

I reached my friends' house, a husband-wife artist duo who, between them, specialize in music, sculpture, painting, jewelry design, cooking and the forgotten magic art of conversation.  The wife asked me what was wrong and, smiling out of the functioning part of my face, I explained my car snafu.  When my lip regained feeling they fed me hearty homemade food and, after an entire evening spent together, the healing balm of their lightheartedness and authenticity set me straight again.  All was once again right with my world.

 I find that this interstitial between-time of summer with my frequent travel and routine disruption has brought out my weaknesses and exposed my need.  As in my tale of woe, I frequently leave little pieces of myself in odd places and have to backtrack to find them.  As simple as meds or the silver bumper paint left on a pair of irritatingly squatty poles or as soul-stirring as the friends I'd left behind, I'm learning life as a fractile is still beautiful.  Though I've had to remember that my good pillow is still in Bangalore and have felt my heart's in little pieces scattered around the globe, I trust that my God who made me will make all the pieces fit.