No Clean Getaway

​Here's a little chaotic painting I did a while back.

I have some strange miswiring in my brain that drives me completely bonkers. I can't leave the house in one shot.  More often than not, I forget some things along the way. 

I don't try to forget stuff it just happens. I'm not sure if it's a function of getting older or if it's just something inherently wrong with the way my brain works. 

Yesterday, I had an appointment at the dentist. I was determined to get there on time. 

Sometimes, the more I want to be on time, the more my plans to fall apart. The universe introduces a little more chaos in my life than might usually be there. The more I want it to get into order; the more anarchy rules the roost. 

I'm sure the second law of thermodynamics plays a critical role in my life (the second law of thermodynamics states that the entropy of an isolated system always increases - things go from order to disorder). 

I was leaving the house yesterday. I was all ready to go. I got into the garage, almost to the car, and realized I'd forgot my sunglasses. It was a brightish day, so I stopped on the steps to be sure I wanted them. I thought, "Of course you need your sunglasses, you silly boy, go back and get 'em."

I went back and got my sunglasses. Mission accomplished. 

Heading back out to the car, I sat in the driver's seat, and as I was getting ready to start the car I thought, "Just in case you get held up in the waiting room shouldn't you have your earbuds so you can listen to music or a podcast or something (rather than to despair, drills, and drooling) to pass the time waiting on the dentist (my buddy Super-Dan the Dentist)." 

I went back in to get my earbuds. Mission accomplished. 

Backing out of the driveway, brought another thought, "Don't you think you'd like to have your phone; since you have your headset, you may as well bring your phone." You see, when I went in to get my sunglasses, I put my phone down to look for them.  So I had the headset and glasses, no phone.

I went back in to get my phone. Mission Accomplished. 

I thought I'd remembered everything when I set off the first time. I thought I had my shit together, but just like every time I try to leave the house, something happens, I'll think, "Hey, I should go in and get a drink. It's going to be a longish drive." or, "wouldn't it be nice if you actually brought your wallet."

I've even tried using a checklist; albeit a mental checklist. 

I am leaving the house. 

Okay - make sure you have: Wallet, Keys, Passport, Money, Glasses. 

Perhaps I need to come up with mnemonic like, "Will Mother Pass My Glass Kettle." or some other strange but similar thing. 

Part of the problem is I am usually rushing, and rushing can cause a variety of vexing situations. I always think I have more time than I do. I still think I can get that one more thing done before rushing out the door. 

I'm convinced I'll do better the next time. I'm confident I'll give myself more time, but it never happens. 

Like when we were on holiday in Spain. It was a lovely little rental in The Alpujarra. The owner of the property said, "when you leave, leave the keys inside and when you close the door it will lock. My housekeeper has a key, and she will be by later to clean the house."

We were in a little bit of a rush because we wanted to stop on the coast to watch the ocean a little before heading to the airport. 

Being the obedient tenants that we are, we left the key in the house and closed the door as instructed. As we were walking up to the car, it dawned on me; the car keys were also inside the house. My heart sunk and my shoulders dropped. I had to break the news to Andrea. 

Slowly she turned. Step by step, inch by inch, I could see the disappointment growing. "God, Scott, not again!"

It's become an oh so familiar mantra, Andrea says, "No clean getaway again eh?" with that little disappointed sigh. 

The landlord was thirty minutes away. There was no way for him to get to the house in time. Andrea dialed his number. I couldn't talk to the guy. He was a German who spoke more Spanish than he did English. I have difficulty with English at the best of the times. It's much better that Andrea called. 

After a bit of hemming and hawing, she stared at the ground for several seconds. I don't know if she wanted me to have a heart attack or not. After a while, she lifted her head and said, "The cleaner only lives around the corner; she'll be here in just a couple of minutes." 

Then, the "Scott ... we have to start keeping tabs on each other. We can't just let things keep happening to us!" 

I know she meant me but it was very nice of her to include herself. 

It's a cross I have to carry. I hope it improves over time but I don't think so. I just hope I can continue to bear the slings and arrows that come my way. It's liable to only get worse with age. I'll try to ease into it, make my peace with it. 

Until next week, I wish you peace. 

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