Kathleen McCall:
Occasional�� Muse�

2001-06-03 - 9:30 p.m.

Falling Upstairs

I'm thinking about a concept: living defensively.

I'm thinking that if I had gotten my ass up this morning and showered and dressed and gone down to get my hair cut, the page from the hospital - "Your Dad won't stay in bed, can you come NOW and stay with him?" - wouldn't have been near so irksome.

But I hadn't. I'd sat in my pajamas, sipping the coffee that my boyfriend brought me and idly fooling with the computer. I was unprepared. I had already figured out how the day was going to go, and how I would have time this morning to laze and still get through the rest of my list and get to the hospital. I forgot that Fate puts paid to the best-laid plans. I forget this every time. I forget this as often as I look up a phone number and then shut the phone book before dialing, or think "I'll remember to turn on the dishwasher when I go to bed," or any number of other life lessons that seem to get written on my brain in wipe-off marker.

On the drive to the hospital, I was thinking about how unready I always seem to be. If my house were decently cleaned, I wouldn't be mortified when surprise guests arrive. If I'd gotten my haircut in any of the 20 chances I have probably had to do it, I wouldn't be looking like a Shetland Sheepdog, and I'd feel less trashy when I ran into the principal of my kids' school at the local grocery, although I wouldn't run into her then, because she hides in the frozen foods and only leaps out when my hair is doing its Bozo impression and my shirt has a major grease stain.

I don't seem to live in a state of readiness for anything. I wasn't a Girl Scout - I don't even like the cookies. I'm just never prepared.

My life always feels more like falling upstairs. Have you ever done that? When you trip on the first riser, and spend the next eternity with your feet frantically chasing the rest of you upwards, trying to catch up with your own center of gravity, while your mind knows full well that all you're doing is postponing the crash? That's my life, right there. Flying up the steps, postponing the inevitable, with the illusion that if I just run fast enough, I can get my feet back under me.

I often think that if everyone and everything would just STOP, just sit the down and shut UP for a damn MINUTE, I could get this whole thing back under control. It's an illusion, but it's a convincing one. Just gimme a MINUTE, just a goddamn MINUTE to put all this wash away and get my hair cut and make a LIST and take a deep breath, and then I can manage this all with grace, then I will be READY. I'm just not ready, see. The Phone of Life is always ringing while I'm in the Shower of Unpreparedness.

I've lived this way a long time, I think. I can't recall the last time I thought, "Drop-in guests, how lovely!" or even, "Here's the postman - let's see what he's brought!" instead of "Nooooooooooo, not registered mail again...." I'd like to go back to that place, though. I'd like to live in a state of grace, instead of the State of Stained T-Shirt.

I'd really like a haircut. I think I can get one this week, and I'm going to try hard to be grateful for that. But I'd sure like to do something ahead of time for once, something that would make me feel prepared and on top of things. So I think I'll get a bucket and fill it with water and put it out on the front yard, to be ready for the Fourth of July home fireworks. Either that, or put up the Advent calendar.

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