No More November

Yesterday, I woke up with a horrible headache. The kind of headache that leaves the pit of your stomach gurgling, as if you’re going to throw up, even if you hadn’t eaten since two the afternoon before. I wish I could say it was from fun, but it wasn’t. It was from driving about 240 miles the day before, then closing, then getting up the next morning to be to work by seven. Aspirin and Tylenol had no effect. Nothing could counter the power of the aching head, except for sleep, which was had in a moderate amount, since it seems impossible for me to actually “sleep in,” whatever that is.

I spent my Thanksgiving time with my family. Drove to my parent’s house (120ish miles) on Wednesday; they drove me and one brother to my great-uncle’s house for dinner and familial harassment. Much food was consumed, by me. I got a headache from the junk turkeys get injected with, but the turkey was scrumptious. I ate two kinds of cheese cakes, which were disappointing but tasty at the same time. Friday, I drove back to Cowcity (120ish miles) ‘cause I had to open the freakin’ store on Saturday. Saturday was my grandma’s 80th birthday, but I just went to work, came back to my apartment, ate something, and slept. Sunday, I drove to my grandparent’s house (120ish miles) to see them, and my parents again, for a sort of birthday treat for my grandma. We hugged hello, talked, laughed, talked, ate chicken, talked, ate ice cream, talked, and hugged good-bye. I drove back to Cowcity (120ish miles) straight to work ‘cause I had the privilege of closing the store Sunday night. Loverly.

Even if I stood naked, I couldn’t count the times I was asked what I want to do on my visible appendages. I pride myself on being honest, I try to always tell the truth, but I rarely tell everything. (I think I’ve written of this before, someone will have to check to be sure, though.) I had two stock answers: 1. The joke: “I want to win the Lotto and never have to worry about money again.” and 2. The avoid: “I don’t know what I want to do.” with an eye roll, if the person wasn’t watching. Here’s the problem: both are true and false. The first, I know will never happen. I don’t gamble, unless it’s with friends, and never win anything, so I never play the Lotto. (When I turned 18 and got some lottery tickets, I was disappointed because I didn’t want them. I let my brother scratch ‘em off and didn’t win.) The second is partially true because I have an idea for something that I’d like to do, but if I told anyone (and I mean anyone out there) I’d just worry them, which is why I won’t be specific in telling them and which is why I wouldn’t do it until I’m sure it wouldn’t worry them. When would that be? Never, so it’ll never be done.

So, any family and friends curious, as long as you keep asking me what I want to do, or simply asking what I want, I’ll continue to tow the Me Party line. “I want to win the Lotto.” and “I don’t know.” I understand that even with this warning, the next time I see you, I’ll be asked, but now you can’t say I haven’t warned you, unless, of course, you don’t actually read this, then you don’t know. Oh, well.

When I was little, probably seven or eight, I decided that, unless I was sick, I wasn’t allowed to complain about the weather being cold until there was frost on the ground. Why did I do this to myself? I don’t know, but it’s one of the few rules I’ve lived by for a long, long time. Anyway, this morning, I found my car coated in the frozen water we call frost. I could finally complain about the cold, if I felt the need. Great. I turned on the car, pulled out a bottle of water, always in the back, and washed the frost off the windows. I settled into the seat, shifted into drive, and started off. I watched the window fog up, and turned on the heater. Nothing. I twisted the knob from 1 to 4, maybe the fan was too low. Nothing. I pulled my sleeve over my hand and wiped the fog off. Stop light. I hit the dash board, pushed the button for the AC. Nothing. No heat in my car for the drive to work. Fingers going numb by the time I got there.

I think, on the way back to the apartment, the heater worked. I think. I didn’t have to use it, the car had been sitting in the sun the whole day. I suppose I’ll have to find out early Wednesday when I go to work early, early, early again.

So, like September before it, November has come to its end in only thirty days. Now it is no more. And I won’t be shedding a tear.