When I was about 10 years old, my best friend “B” who lived kitty-corner across the street and I took command of a box of brownie mix. We decided it would be a great thing to stir up the batter and eat it all raw: the whole batch. Just the two of us. No sharing with any of her sisters.
It was a good idea in theory. Oh we finished it. I don’t remember being in pain, per se. But let’s just say, we never got the urge to do that again.
Yeah. That’s what happened the other day at work when I settled down in my still-new office with the morning light streaming in. Faced with the minor indecision of The iPod Setting, I made a new choice. I dialed straight to Artists>Led Zeppelin. I thought, I’m going to go crazy at this job if I don’t give myself some comfort. What’s more comforting than a favorite band?
Five hours later, Zeppelin tunes still rolling along, I looked down and realized I had 53 more tracks to go. It felt like back when B and I would get Italian Ices from the ice cream man. The unspoken contest was to scrape off the colored sweetness as slowly as possible. We’d sit with those little wooden paddle spoons and cardboard cups on the concrete front step to my house at twighlight distracting each other with analysis of General Hospital plot lines while the fire flies made their first glows of the night. Eventually, one of us would have an empty cup and the other, the winner, would gloat and eat even more slowly. Oh it’s so good. Too bad you’re finished with yours.
So there I was the other day, 2pm and 53 tracks to go: Oh it’s so good.
In theory. I was still working at 8pm when I made my way up to track 107. A full – long – work day with nothing but constant Led Zeppelin. Continuous Plant. Non-stop Page. So good — if it weren’t for the constant pressure of a worse than usual work day drilling along simultaneously.
That’s when I realized I might have gone and over done it.
I think I can recover . . . it just may take a few weeks. Dammit.