Hitting the Wall

Watch out now, take care Beware of the thoughts that linger Winding up inside your head The hopelessness around you In the dead of night

Beware of sadness It can hit you It can hurt you Make you sore and what is more That is not what you are here for

-George Harrison

Beware of Darkness

There is a scene in Ferris Bueller's Day Off that resonates this morning. After a day galavanting around Chicago, our characters are out by the pool enjoying the afternoon. All except Cameron, who's suddenly overwhelmed with life, a gloomy character who suddenly goes catatonic as he sits like pharaoh in a chair on the diving board.

He doesn't speak, doesn't move, with a million mile stare. He's done. He's hit the wall.

Yesterday was sort of like that for me. Somewhere around seven at night, I "bonked" as we used to say in distance running.

The day began at the home of our friends the Hortons, with a leisurely breakfast out on the porch, the sound of the Gulf just over the trees. Well, it wasn't leisurely for me--I had a conference call with a client and her team of out-of-town lawyers at nine. I kept looking at the time, grateful for the hospitality but realizing that breakfast hitting the table at 8:30 meant I would handle this call in the car while riding to the office. And this client was already angry at me for not attending in person, a likely professional casualty of the pandemic.

When I arrived at the office, carrying my phone on speaker and attending the call, I set up in the conference room because my office has been given away in my absence, my partners figuring I'll be in Panama City in a few weeks anyway. I prepared for a 9:30 Zoom hearing, then sat there on hold for ten minutes waiting for a judge who never arrived. I asked Hannah to call and ask if we were on the wrong line, and then learned the hearing had been cancelled but left on my calendar.

I rejoined the call, then was forced to jump off at 11:30 to attend another call while driving to the airport to fly back to Perry. That call went fine, I guess, although the subject matter is another very worrisome legal matter I'm handling.

When we arrived at the airport, we found that the plane hadn't been refueled. I did a quick calculation in my head and figured we'd make it to Perry on what was in the tanks, so long as we did not divert.

Our Panama City adventure had been filled with these sorts of little setbacks. The office remains a mess, with shoddy workmanship and grounds that still bear the scars of the hurricane. I doubt it will be ready for our 1 June start date. The contractor says he won't be able to start on the condo until 1 June, and it will take twelve weeks to finish. The door to the condo was changed in our absence, and locked by the CAM. They say they are too busy to mail us a key, but somehow we have to obtain access for the contractor to get started. I shopped online for campsites where I could live while I'm in town working this summer. It is all a little overwhelming.

The flight to Perry was uneventful, except for extremely gusty winds that made landing a challenge. Once home, Peg topped off the truck bed pool and we settled into the cold water for a toddy. This was one of my favorite things last year, and yet I felt off, unable to enjoy it. Anhedonia started setting in.

Peg has found a house in Corning we'll likely buy, but starting the financing process has been miserable. USAA has gotten out of the business, and the local New York bank, as well as Rocket Mortgage, have online questionnaires that seem designed to make the process insurmountable. We finally gave up, and decided to go play golf.

My golf game was awful, just awful, and I started to lose my temper. This in turn made Peg miserable and tense. By the seventh hole I was grumbling and swearing and beating the ground with my club after every duffed shot. The wheels had come off.

We drove home after nine holes of this, and I left Peg to cook her own birthday dinner while I walked to the pasture behind the barn, plopped down on the grass, and wept like the world was ending. Not sure where that came from, but I've not felt this way since the horrible first weeks after the storm. It is all too much. Nothing feels right.

And yet, this morning is a little better. P and I have taken our coffee on the front porch, geese standing next to the boat trailer trying to chew through the brake lines as they plot our demise. Breakfast is cooking, and P has opened a bottle of champagne. Later, after I work a little, we will likely take out the boat for a while, after a seven month hiatus.

Today just needs to be a self-care day for me. I can't let the daunting challenges that continue to pile up on our path swallow me. I need to remind myself it's all going to be fine, and worrying all the time doesn't help, does it?