A fitting end to this day
Standing in my driveway, shivering, fingers fumbling and stiff, disconnecting the battery of my ten-year-old car because some bug in its internal computer won’t turn the interior lights off and I don’t know how else to stop them.
Tomorrow’s fitting start, then, will be reconnecting that battery, probably in an icestorm, so I can drive it—interior lights ablaze!—to the dealer where I will get a $500 rodgering for them to reset a computer that is 1/100000 as sophisticated as my phone.
And there was that one time when your dad said their voicemail wasn’t working.
So you drove out there to discover that it works fine, he actually has 104 messages dating back to when he moved into the house back in March, and he just never asked how to check them, and now you have to spend the morning on the phone with Comcast to try to mass delete them, because there is something else wrong and their visual voicemail isn’t working, and you don’t have 8 hours to listen to 104 voicemails.
That was awesome.
So it turns out “done” is a subjective concept.
I’ve unlocked the secret!
There’s a point where the soul-crushing stress of your days leaves you physically exhausted and your immune system totally compromised. So you get really sick! And then that exhaustion and the illness override the stress-induced insomnia, and you finally get an OK night’s sleep.
I wish I would have figured it out years ago. The answer was always more stress. <facepalm>