Thursday, October 11, 2012

What You Didn't Do

Yesterday morning, Iris and I got up early. We had a lot to do.

Iris starts off a little more slowly than she wants. It's one of those walk-into-a-room-and-then-try-to-remember-why-you-did-so type of mornings.

As I work at my desk, I catch Iris passing back and forth through my field of vision. She walks to various points in the room, pauses for a moment as if to think, and then pulls a 180.

A half hour passes. I look up from my Mac to see Iris standing before my desk. Seems that she has something to say. I stop typing and give her my attention.

She looks at me. I look at her. That's it.

I notice that she only seems to be looking at me.  Her eyes appear to be focused on me. However they don't follow my movements. Her expression is set in stone and there's a distance in her gaze.

I wave my hand in front of her face.

She regains consciousness.

"Adderall?", I ask.

"Oh yeah, Adderall.  This is the fifth time I've walked in here to take my Adderall. Where's my purse?"

Iris rummages about the office seeking her purse, finds some errant socks, picks them up and heads toward the laundry room.

I call out after her, "Adderral! Purse is hanging on the back of the door."

"Oh, yeah."

I monitor Iris' progress. She finds purse and retrieves the prescription bottle. She takes out a pill and heads into the bathroom to get water.

From the bathroom, I hear the water running and then, to relieve me from my watch, "I took it!"

Fifteen minutes later, Iris sits across from me typing. She works her way through her list of todo's trying not to interrupt me with questions, comments or the sound effects that she emanates when reading. Another fifteen minutes passes and she succeeds: no more interruptions.

An hour passes and she's out the door to stack wood and clear the driveway of leaves. An hour after that I hear her up in the kitchen cleaning out the fridge and washing dishes. A bit later and she's down in the office again, grabbing her coat and heading out the door to visit her friend Quinn.

I walk over to kiss her good-bye and I say, "Hey, you had a great morning. You really got a lot done."

Tossing her bag over her shoulder she says, "I don't know. I didn't finish the wood and I still have a stack of papers to go through."

"Say what?"

"I just don't feel like I did that much."

"Who are you and what have you done with Iris?"

"What do you mean?"

"I think it's good you're going to see Quinn. You could use a little Zen-mastering."

Iris looks at me and smiles. "Oh yeah, I guess I could celebrate what I did do."

"Yeah, you did a great job!"

"I did. I did a great job. Yippee!"

Laughing, we bask in the glory of Iris' morning's accomplishments, listing them one by one. Iris starts with the email she got out. I roll it back to making the bed. She smiles and says, "You forgot getting out of bed."

What did you forget to celebrate today?

Happy Thursday,
Teflon

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