Stomach, meet knot

I have a knot in my stomach this morning. I’m not sure why.usually this feeling comes when I’ve done something wrong and I’m worried about discovery. However, I haven’t and am not.  It was there when I go up this morning.

Maybe it’s a left over from a weird dream I had where I was driving Dad’s old 1978 Buick to escape a trio of tornadoes and my high school friend Ann was in it (she was wrapped in a blanket and snoozing in the passenger seat)  and we were going down the highway with lots of other cars and the brakes didn’t work and I ran right over these 2 black guys who were driving an MG Midget with the top down (even tho it was pouring rain, but they weren’t wet at all) and even tho neither one of them was hurt they were (understandably) PISSED so I pulled into a Shoney’s parking lot, drove through the lobby and out the other side and parked, thinking they were following me but they weren’t so I just sat there waiting for the police. And woke up nervous.

Then Terry reminded me he had to go into work this morning and would be missing Sunday school and I hate going to Sunday school by myself because it makes Terry out to be a heathen or something and then Pastor Barnes makes a comment to Terry after the service about "how nice that they let you out of your cage for the morning" which is nice that he noticed but still, I hate looking like a single mother at church. And I double hate that Terry is working on Sunday. HATE IT.  Especially now that (theoretically, apparently) his work load has been lessened and he ought to have a day off every week.  Maybe that knot is more frustration and anger than worries about policemen in the Shoney’s parking lot.

The good news is that the race (I think there’s a race, there almost always in on a Sunday) isn’t anywhere interesting so I may be able to get a little bit of yardwork out of Terry this afternoon.  The patio and driveway need blowing off. The pine and oak flowers have all fallen and I’ve swept much of it up, but a leaf blower is definitely in order. And, thanks to a shoulder I’m trying to baby, using a gas powered leaf blower is out of the question. A pile of grass clippings requires raking (ditto the shoulder), and I want to go all aroung the outside with my notebook and his eyes to make a list of Stuff To Be Done As Cheaply As Possible, toward the goal of making this place attractive and sellable.  There’s a ton of little things that won’t cost a penny, but require time and effort, and will go miles toward improving the overall look of the place.  Bush trimming, moving this from here to there, knocking down that, taking the other to the dump. That sort of thing.

And, the knot is still there. Cool air from the window, the affectionate ministrations of the dogs, the prospect of bacon, none seem to have their typical calming influence. Crazy.

About rootietoot

I do what I can.
This entry was posted in *whinge*, Dewicate feewings, spouse. Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to Stomach, meet knot

  1. Oh dear, if bacon isn’t working, there’s probably no hope.


    But seriously, I hope that knot goes away because after your busy description of things that are going on, I wouldn’t be surprised if it isn’t just a wee bit of stress.

    Still, your paragraph describing your dream kind of made me laugh because it sounded just like a classic scene of someone describing a dream, all in one big sentence.

    Hope you have a nice, serene week.

    – Margaret

  2. JerseyChick says:

    Were you, in your dream, mad that Ann slept thru it?

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