Mama used to tell me that bad things come in threes and then they are gone. Not so, or not for me this weekend anyway. Saturday night I put a chicken in the crock pot so I could get up Sunday morning before Facebook church and make said fowl into a luscious pot pie. I wanted to sit and actually watch the church service even though the coronavirus prevented my going. Then I went to bed, carefully setting the alarm for 7:30 a.m. Every time Nature called me during the night, I could smell the lovely aroma of chicken cooking. I nearly sprained my shoulder patting myself on the back for being so efficient and then back to bed I’d go.
At 5:30, long before alarm time, I awoke to a monstrous headache. All the minor demons were pounding the backside of my eyeballs with sharp, heavy hammers and the inside of my head rang in response. Nearly tripping over a dog, I stumbled off to the bathroom for Tylenol. Back in bed, I lay there engulfed in pain. Consciously I tried to go back to sleep, but that rarely works. It didn’t work for me. When the alarm sounded, I turned it off and went back to bed. My head still ached, and I couldn’t convince myself to get up. No church for me. I did manage to turn off the crock pot before I finally fell asleep.
At 9, I got up and took more Tylenol. After a big cup of coffee, the headache started to fade. By 10:30 I was well enough to listen to the service on the radio as I put my pot pie together. I even managed to make banana bread during the service. Lunch was served.
After lunch I sat down to visit with my sister and catch up on the Hazlehurst news. After Sarah Nell left, I lay on my bed to explore Facebook and read emails for a while. Of course, I knew that a nap would probably ensue. Immediately my internet started malfunctioning. We have ATT internet service, and I have to say that it’s terrible at best. When my sons come home and try to use it, they usually get frustrated and give up. They live in Atlanta and Richmond, so they’re accustomed to really good internet service. I didn’t realize how terrible mine is until my grandson Stuart moved to town and got ATC, which is marvelous, but not worth moving to town for. Anyway, I’ll be in the middle of something and the internet cuts off. Sometimes it comes back on; sometimes, no. I called ATC to see if it’s available in Pine Grove, but it stops at Woody Folsom’s. I later measured the distance with my car and found that I live exactly 5 miles from the end of the line. Hmm. Is there even a line for internet? I don’t know. I am very aware that I pay good money every month for internet that works sporadically. In frustration, I put my phone down and went to sleep.
That’s when my scariest problem started. I dreamed that I had to take a Calculus class, and I was terrified. Wiping sweat from my brow, I carried a book as big as an unabridged dictionary. I took the most advanced math classes that Jeff Davis High School had to offer, but I graduated in 1966. I’ve had one math class since then, maybe two if you count the statistics class that I took for my master’s degree. So in my dream, I called my good friend Gail Carter, calculus teacher extraordinaire, to see if she could help me. Very graciously, she consented, but there was a hitch.
“Mary Ann, I’ll be glad to help you, but I have company right now,” she told me. “Dr. Quinn and his family are here. When he leaves, I’ll call you. We’ll work as long as you need to.”
I was certain we’d need to work a long, long time, but at that point I realized I was dreaming. Dr. Quinn was principal here years ago and moved to New York I think. We haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since. I was trapped in a dream and couldn’t wake up. The night before I couldn’t go to sleep. What an enigma.
Finally, I awoke, relieved to find no calculus book. I think I’ll avoid Sunday afternoon naps for a while. What a nightmare. As a matter of fact, nightmare pretty much describes my whole weekend. Thank goodness, tomorrow’s Monday.