Once again I fell asleep watching a movie which I can't remember. I watched "The Fall of Olympus," and whatever came on after it. A few weeks ago, I set my alarm for six-thirty in order to instill some discipline in my life, i.e. to recreate my work-life schedule. I abandoned it shortly thereafter. I am not going to forget how to lead a normal life as a working stiff, so why practice? Why not enjoy and embrace the disruption and have it not matter? Right. So, I shouldn't try to start watching a movie at ten when I'm working, but what difference does it make if I do that now? None. If I sleep in the dinette for two to three hours, wake at one, do the dishes, walk the dogs, shower, go to bed, do Sudoku, read Apple News and go to sleep at three-thirty, what difference does it make? None. This morning I woke up at seven-forty. I took the dogs for a short walk so I could have half of my coffee, drink my protein shake, change, do dishes, and get to stretching class ten minutes early. The dogs didn't care: they got the same amount of food for one quarter of the walk. I finished my coffee later. It didn't matter. It's a different existence: I don't have to force it to be the old one.
Our abbreviated walk was on the loop in which we reside. As we approached the restroom and laundry building, I spotted a dead snake beside the road. It was a baby snake which I suspect died from hypothermia yesterday given the temperatures. I didn't recognize its red and tan colors or pattern, so it gave me some pause as to what else might be in the grass that Addison so assiduously avoids.
There were two men in stretching class which was a first for my attendance. During the class I heard one talking to Sherri about me – how stretchy I am. I'm 20 to 30 years younger than most of the other attendees, so my comparative “stretchiness” is largely explained by the difference in our ages – I grew up in a time when exercise and stretching were proved beneficial to the body. It is further explained by my genetics – my mother’s sister is Gumby. I am not as stretchy as I used to be, but I seem to still have most of it – pulled hamstring notwithstanding. When class ended a woman complimented my abilities. I cited my genetics. Another woman – a former PE teacher and OSU graduate – invited me to learn how to play pickle ball at noon.
I did "Ab Ripper X" after class. When I finished, I went to the recycling area where I saw the woman who is living to my left. I asked her, “By any chance, was there a note complaining about your dog barking attached to your trailer the other day?” She said there was, and she asked me if I put it there. I laughed and said no. We both agreed that it had been written by an older woman, given the creakiness of the penmanship. She said that her dog inadvertently had been trapped in her screen room by her step-daughter, hence the barking. I speculated that it may have been written by a new arrival since it’s likely that my dogs barked long before the day my note was posted. The woman then became committed to uncovering the note-writer. While we discussed our various neighbors, she disclosed that the dog-shit-accuser had walked her and her dog around the loop the other day while lamenting the loss of his dog. We both agreed that he’s a super-creep.
I returned to BOB, grabbed my postcards and wallet, and headed out on my bike to the post office. The postal employee looked at the front and back of my postcards when I handed them to her. She said she couldn't help herself.
I didn't go to pickle ball as much as I wanted to. I knew there was no way I wouldn't make my pulled hamstring worse since I have no speed or effort in between full-throttle and off. Assuming I don't die soon, I'll have other opportunities to learn how to play pickle ball. And, if I do die soon, not learning to play pickle ball isn't something I'm going to regret.
This afternoon, I defrosted my refrigerator and freezer. Kim and Kate had suggested I do so a month ago. They told me to use a hair dryer to melt the ice. It took forty minutes. Then, as a cleaning bonus, I washed my air conditioning filter.
A maintenance guy with whom I have spoken previously stopped by BOB today to see if I was alright. He said he hadn't seen me in a while. I thanked him for his concern, and I asked him if he wanted to see the dead snake. I had already determined that it is a red corn snake, a.k.a. a red rat snake. He said they are all over the park. Oh, good. At least they are not one of the four poisonous snakes found in Florida. He told me that there is a bobcat which cruises the park, too. I asked him about alligators in the Indian River. He said that they are in the tributaries, so they must be in the river. That confirms it: no SUP-ing for me!
Sherri and I walked the dogs around the park this afternoon. Shortly after I returned I received a call from Hingham, MA. I knew it was someone from Talbots. The caller was a recruiter who had been given my information by a postcard recipient. I told her I was looking for a COO job at a smaller company or a strategy/new business development job at a larger company like Talbots. She said she'd keep my resume on file. Points to Talbots for its acknowledgment of my effort, although I know that I'll never hear from her again. So far, only three of 110 companies have been polite enough to acknowledge my efforts.
Siobhan M. Knox
In May 2016, I bought a five ton, 25’ long Class C motorhome because I like to drive, I like to travel, and it’s more fun and less expensive than living in a hotel. No prior RV experience was required, and I had none: perfect. I’m writing a book about my adventures which will come to an end when I get a job. The dogs will be sad.