"Where there is anger, there is always pain underneath."
In the third change of plans over the last twenty hours, it looks like I'll get out of Corning around lunchtime, and fly via Spartanburg down to PC for a quick swing through the office before driving tomorrow morning very early over to Tifton, GA to pick up some tractor implements for debris clearing over the weekend.
Or I'll go through Greensboro, NC, and on to Perry, stay at the farm, and drive to Tifton in the morning on the same errand. The airport in Perry is still closed from the storm, but the manager said I can land there as long as I stay out of the way of all the FEMA and Duke Energy folks. But George sent me a photo showing that-the place is slammed with emergency equipment, a small city of light-alls, trailers, and bucket trucks. And the FAA is still showing the airport as closed. Is that a smart move?
Midday yesterday I'd planned to leave for Florida later that afternoon so I could mediate a case in PC on Thursday (today). Then one side emailed that the mediation was cancelled, and I told the crew at Premier Aviation to put the plane back in the hangar and I'd leave first thing this morning. Then the other side emailed around quitting time that the mediation is NOT cancelled, and we'd go forward by Zoom this morning. So I just got off the phone with Steve at Premier, telling him that my best guess was that I'd depart around noon, but it was only a guess.
Oh, and there's weather rolling in, so I'll be picking through who knows what by the time I finally get out of here, assuming that's today.
This is my life now, fresh on the heels of my mother's funeral weekend, where I found myself dragooned into being the social director and celebrant for three days that were as emotionally draining as any I've experienced in a while.
Here's Mom in the passenger seat of the rental car after I picked her up from All Texas Cremation.
The young man in the nondescript office building where I signed for the little box and bag told me how sorry he was for my loss. I told him I was as well.
As we pulled out of the parking lot, I looked over at her and commented, "Well Mom, you seem to have squared up a bit." Anything for a laugh.
Before I dropped her off at the church office, we drove back into the neighborhood where we lived when I was in high school, right after the divorce. I found our old house, and we talked about what a nice job they'd done maintaining the place, and all the good times we had there.
Why am I telling this story? I guess because I've been operating in two modes lately, flat and raging. Mostly flat, to be honest, but the other bubbles up every now and then and culminates in a crushed TV remote when I'm asked for a streaming service password, or in an unkind text or email. It's like all that scar tissue that formed after the storm in 2018 has lost its flexibility and become more, rather than less, sensitive. P's commented that neither of us is handling this recent blow to Wyldswood with Idalia as well as we handled losing pretty much everything in Michael.
So anyone who yanks my chain with some scheduling snafu, or goofs up a court filing, or isn't pulling his or her weight in helping navigate this stream of unpleasant events, gets the full Wrath of Donk. Which is really quite wrathy, in sort of a whiny, passive aggressive way.
From here I'll get a little billable work done, after seeing my hours collapse by about a third since Mom's passing, then mediate a bit, then fly to Florida to commence the long weekend of cleanup at the farm. It'll be nice to see Issac again, to see George and show that the family is actively involved in picking up our own property. A male bonding moment, perhaps? Well, let's not get carried away here.
I do wish P were along for this one. I don't do well without her; basically as flat as Michigan J. Frog when no one's watching (boy, there's an obscure cartoon reference for you!).
I miss her already.
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