Wordy Wednesday

I’ve got to clean the house. There’s no way around it. Having, in a spasm of sheer idiocy, purchased a vat of cheep “maple” syrup, less than two days ago, I am now faced with a kitchen entirely covered in high fructose corn syrup. Not only so, but the entire vat has been consumed. There isn’t any syrup left, at all. I realize, of course, that this should not surprise me. I should have known and expected it. What else is a fairly large group of children going to do with so much sugar? They will necessarily pour it all out, like water, or some unholy oblation to a tinpot pagan god. So, I will betake myself to the store to buy some soap, because somehow, for reasons unknown to me, the children took the container of dish soap out into the parking lot and poured it out. The soap, outside, the sugar, inside.

And I will descend back into Sheol to look again to the next season. Everyone is melting in this heat wave of 70 degree weather. No one can manage the idea of shoes or clothes because it’s just so hot. I mean…for real… It’s not hot, at all. It is balmy and cool and there’s no reason you can’t survive in a pair of jeans. But the world lays itself down and weeps because of the chaffing of the jean material, and the total absence of any shorts and tshirts. Life is such an unbearable trial.

And then maybe I will cope with the car, piled high with months of papers and coats and lost shoes and socks and mittens and rotting apple cores. I will bash around in sadness and anger, because of all the careless filth. Why can’t they just pick up one pair of shoes, I will mutter soulessly, dimly, as the will to live and clean saps slowly from my broken flesh.

And then I will remember that we eat lunch now, not supper, and will rush around slinging pork chops here and there and muttering about risidual sugar. And that will be The Usual Wednesday.