sprawled across the finish line

Today was a ding dang looloo of a day. There was much crying. At my desk. There was a puddle between me and my keyboard. I wish that was just a funny story.

Last night i found out my old man had to go right away for an angiogram and likely angioplasty. "Oh, Jane. Come on. Easy peasy," you say. If you had my family history of angioplasty (let's just say they didn't really have a handle on it 25 years ago), you'd be a little spooked. But that was 25 years ago, yes. Still, it was disconcerting. Also because my baby brother graduates from college tomorrow. Would Pop be able to go? "Of course," said the doctor. "Uh, I hope so," said the rest of us.

So Pop went in at 10 for his procedure. And I had a meeting with my overseer (ooh, isn't that funner than boss?) about that same time, and he talked about all the Michael Jackson excitement (I work in news) and how we could be pulling a late night on Friday, etc. "Oh, of course!" I said. And on the walk back to my desk I remembered the whole, "Your brother is graduating, PS you're supposed to be getting out EARLY not having a work sleepover." But if you work in news, you don't get out of the Michael Jackson trial. So I sat at my desk and cried. And I called home to get my brother's cell phone number (because you know I left my phone with all its numbers at home) and Dollie had to accidentally call him to get it, and then he called me at work, which is not how I wanted it to be as I was still entirely hysterical, and then I made him upset and said, "Don't tell Mommy (who was at the hospital with her husband) because she has enough to worry about.

So at 1PM, I got a call from my mom (who had obviously been crying) with news that the old man was totally all fine, no blockage at all. Magic. I was happy for good news, but still bummed about bad news.

So I worked and cried and had more meetings and cried and worked. And my mom called and said, "If you can't make it you can't make it. Don't be upset. This is a big work deal, and we all understand. But maybe you should ask if you can get out just to be sure. Because if there is no verdict and you sit there for no reason and you say, 'Argh! I could have gone!' and they say, 'Oh, of course. Why didn't you ask?' you will punch everyone and kick yourself" (OK, she didn't really say that part) and I agreed, mostly because I'd been thinking of how to tell three different people (the lame but best approach -- an email) who should be making the call that I had another commitment, and a hot plan of how to make it all work. So I sent the mail, and the people came to me and said, "Oh, you're going. It's one day, and you can't get that back." And "That's family. You don't miss that." And I thought, "Wow." And so I cried again (whoa.) But not for too long, because I had to run out to dinner.

Dinner? Yes! Dinner! At Virgil's! Where I had never been! There was shrimp and ribs and cobbler and even a mint julep (holy god, how do people drink these all day?) This was because nine years ago today, Dollie and I (and Seana and my brother) met in a line to meet Pulp. And the rest is history.

Speaking of history, our little boy grew up and moved out. Tonight. We came home to a message on our machine from the lovely girl who bought our car. She had her plates and registration all ready, and was it OK to come pick up Oscar now? It was. And he's gone.

And I better get to bed, because I'm due up in a few hours, and I'll be sleeping today off for weeks.