Are Ya Feeling It?

I spent the weekend with very limited internet participation, and was totally ready to get this week started.  After mowing half the day Sunday, I developed quite the nice headache from communing with the weeds, and decided an early bedtime was just what the doctor ordered.  Of course, early bedtime means early riser, which in my case, was 4AM with the need to pee.

It's really dark at 4AM.  More so than those joyful mornings of hearing birds singing their gleeful song at 5AM.  So because it's so dark, I didn't see FatCat, who is a blob of black fur, when I took the first step down.

Yup, you guessed it, I tumbled down our stairs.  The plus side is I didn't wake anyone up doing it...not even the FatCat bastard lounging on the top stair.  The down side is I didn't wake anyone up who might be concerned I cracked my thick skull on the way down.  I did not crack my thick skull, but I did feel every step on my well padded ass.  Ouch.  That one's going to leave a mark.

I found that tumbling down a set of stairs wakes you up quite well.  So those thoughts of going back to bed for a couple hours left my head.  Profanity did not. 

Not one to dwell on just the negatives, I took the opportunity of two extra hours in my day to get some cleaning and the rest of the laundry done.  I was not about to let FatCat ruin my day.  Though FatCat decided to then lounge like a lump of coal on the floor of whatever room I decided to be in.  Just a furry reminder of how graceful I have not become in my old age.

I hit up the coffee shop for the Monday morning ritual, thinking that would snap the pallor of bruised body and ego from my system.  Nope, didn't do it.  I wasn't grouchy per se, but I just wasn't feeling it. I could not decide which hurt worse...my ass, and the hand that was starting to form a bruise, or the knowledge that I was awake well before the happy little larks were.

I got my hair cut, thinking getting rid of the little amount of extra hair I had would totally get my it factor going again, but I left the shop happy with the haircut, but still not happy with my day.  Even the iced coffee that was still icy cold waiting in the truck didn't do it for me.

I ran a few errands, and then decided to visit the local junk shop.  It's like a summer long garage sale, operating on donations only.  My daughter is looking for a small side table for college, and my son wants a grandpa sweater.  Both things you would think a person could find in a local junk shop, but surprise, golly gee, the place was only filled with junk.  I couldn't decide if my brain was really seeing the $20 couch correctly.  Was that really what looked like a shit stain on one of the cushions?  My aching ass skipped sitting on that one.  As I made my way room to room, doing "the circle" that I always do in the place, I felt what little "it factor" I had from coffee slipping away.  This place is really filled with junk.  As I saw one heinous 70's artifact after another, I began mentally ranting about the type of garbage people hang on to, and had to wonder what the hell was going through people's minds when they donated this shit.  Of course, working in consignment, I should not be surprised.  I actually look at some pretty horrid stuff in the process of selecting the really great pieces we have in our store.  And that's with us not being a donation type store...I don't quite know which is worse.

I had nearly given up my perusing, feeling frustrated that this place trying to raise money for a good cause gets shit on...literally if that couch really had the stain I think it had.  I did a quick walk through of the "kitchen room" where you'll find everything from dishes, glassware, to small appliances.

And then....

The heavens opened up, the light shone, and the angels began to sing.

THE espresso machine.  Yes, just like THE purse, there is THE espresso machine.

I've been drinking espresso for years, and this was the first machine I ever owned.  It is THE machine.  No weird plastic taste, no horrid smell, or screech.  A PERFECT brew.  Little did I know that this was a simple little machine originally from Target, because my first one was either given to me or bought used.  It actually had been so long ago that I never remembered.  I've had two since, one bought on eBay, another found at a local church sale.  The one from church sale was the last one bought, and didn't last more than a handful of months, probably because Jesus was mad at me for just calling him a dude in ugly sandals.  By that time, this perfect little machine was long gone from the Target shelves, and a rare find on eBay, so I resigned myself to the fact that I would never own one again.  I moved on to other machines, never quite appreciating them like I did this little powerhorse.

I checked out the contents of the box...everything was there, and other than the layer of dust, it looked like it had not been used more than a handful of times.  It even had the instructional VHS tape included, which tells you how old this machine is.  The sticker on the box said $3, and once I saw that, I snatched it up quicker than my fat ass can tumble down a flight of stairs.  Mine.  Miiiiiiiiiiine.  My preciousssssssssss.

I got it in my truck, sitting contentedly next to THE purse in a place of honor, and realized I still wasn't feeling IT.  Really?  I just found the most glorious espresso maker my wallet can afford and I was still feeling this "meh" feeling?  On a normal, no falling day, I would have raced through the remainder of my errands just to get home and try it out.  What the hell was wrong with me?  Well, other than starting my Monday with a tumble into Neverland?

I decided to check out another one of our consignment stores in town.  It's not often I get to shop there, and I thought maybe I'd find that grandpa sweater, or some other glorious item of my past that would get me feeling IT.  I did find the side table for my daughter, but nope, not feeling IT.  Could have been the price tag, because as is the case in any time crunch, I paid more than I usually would.  But I could stop thinking that one of my own side tables was going to disappear in a flurry of college moving activity.

I wrapped up my errands except for that last dreaded chore of grocery shopping.  Ugh.  I hate grocery shopping.  I even had a list, but still had no inkling of sunshine and happiness to go.  On a whim, I swung by my aunts house.  She was gone, but all four of my cousins were there, and I settled in to a cushion of warmth and contentedness in the space known as the Voodoo Lounge.

My aunt eventually arrived home, but not before I had a few hours with my cousins, and add in another hour with my aunt, and next thing I know, it's late afternoon, and I have found the IT factor.  So much so that it doesn't even give me a twinge of sadness to know it's now too late in the day to test out that espresso maker.

It wasn't the coffee throughout the day, not the espresso machine.  It was the people.  They are my warm fuzzies on a not feeling it day.  Bruised and sore, I was able to find my it factor in the confines of the Voodoo Lounge.  In fact, I totally still am feeling it today, after a night of sleeping on a bruised ass, with a bruised hand.  I am FEELING IT.  I got my mojo back, and I am ready to start this week with a kick ass attitude that far outweighs the bruises.

And this morning, bounding out of bed, I did a Chuck Norris karate chop kick on that first step, just in case FatCat was trying to kill me again.  Take that furball.  You can't kill my mojo.