So the Client (I can call her that now, because she’s the only one I have) called on Friday and also emailed me more material for the site, and I was working all that day in Munich so I didn’t get back to her. Fair enough. Saturday I was just a lazy-butt, and was all, “I’ll call her as soon as I’ve got the ironing done.” “Wait, first I have to make chicken stock.” “Okay, after I’ve started the spaghetti sauce.” “Right, the minute this kitchen is clean, I will call her.” And then around teatime the Sniglet barfed and that was my evening all planned out.
Sunday, well… I really like the whole Bavarian don’t-work-on-Sunday thing, even though everyone I know hates it – that is, they don’t want to work, but they think other people should have to work so that they can shop. I’m not a proletarian, but I play one in my active fantasy life, and I really don’t see why the less-privileged should have to work weekends so that I don’t have to find ways to entertain myself. But I digress.
I don’t actually mind working on Sundays, but the organization for which I am making the site is the Client’s work, and maybe she doesn’t want to think about it on a Sunday, so I didn’t call her.
This morning there was an email from my SIL waiting for me when I got up. My best-beloved little brother fell off the roof of their house yesterday and has a broken hip and shoulder, possibly some broken ribs. So there’s me in a state of barely-contained panic.
And the Client called me today, right after I got home from yoga.* And we got the next batch of stuff-to-do squared away, which is a problem because given how long I made her wait, I should get that done really soon. Like today. But it’s really going to cut in to all the rocking and keening I have to do.
*Yoga, mid-crisis – now there’s an exercise in cognitive dissonance for ya. The teacher is a licensed psychotherapist, so this is the relaxy-kind of yoga, not the try-to-put-your-pinkie-toes-in-your-ears kind. So I’m lying there, eyes closed per instructions, and she’s all doing her yoga-talk…
imagine a feather stroking your forehead, your cheeks…
ohmigod ohmigod ohmigod it’s February in Colorado how long did he have to lie broken on that cold ground before the ambulance came?
relax your jaw, relax your shoulders
how much did it hurt him when they put him on the gurney?
let aaaall of the tension flow out of your body…
Do they have good insurance? How long will he be out of work? What is she going to do on her own with five kids and that kind of worry to deal with? AAAAAAAUUUUGGGGHHHH!
Song du jour of the day… sorry, there’s nothing in my head but a drawn-out, high-pitched wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee