Grumble, grumble, grumble

Grrr-rickty-frack-frack-shit-piss-fuck. No paper again.

Everyone needs a special time of day when certain rituals can be performed in peace. You know the ones. Some are common to us all. Some are just yours. One of mine is reading the paper at the kitchen table with a mug of fresh hot coffee and the dog for company.

This little ritual takes place in the dark at this time of year. I usually rise about six and take the dog out and walk down the long driveway while she has time to do her business. Out next to the road is our mailbox/batting practice target. Underneath the traditional black metal box is a little wooden cavity designed to hold the morning paper. In the five years I have lived here, I can count the times the paper was not there on one hand.

Yesterday was one of those days and a completely understandable situation it was too. We were in the grips of a big winter storm that was dumping tons of snow everywhere and the plows had come by so many times that the snow bank was partially covering the newspaper nest, plus the banks were so wide that a car driving by would be too far away to stick a paper in there. This was not an insolvable problem however. In the past, the newspaper had been hung on the mailbox lid in a plastic bag or thrown into our driveway or even delivered to our door.

Well, I went back to the house grumbling and knew that the day would feel off-balance now for good. I sat down with my coffee and read the "News of the Weird" from yesterday's paper. Two hours and one snow-cleared driveway later, I agian checked for the paper. Still no joy. OK, time to call. Put in the call to the phone robot saying I didn't get my paper and please send one out. Robot said OK.

That has worked in the past, but not yesterday. Called again at 5 PM and the robot gave me over to an organic clone who promised me a special delivery right away. Nada. OK, fuck that, open the wine, get out the DVD's.

I rose this morning to a beautiful clear blue sky with the sun just starting to peak over the hills through the trees, put the water on, got the dog, trekked out to the mailbox, now easily accessible due to diligent snow blowing and bank trimming and NO FUCKING PAPER. Gaaaaa.

Back into the house and no more mister nice guy. Called the rag, got a nice young woman who listened to my politely worded rant on customer dissatisfaction and who promised a special delivery withing an hour. I said bring yesterday's too. She said she would try. The hour is now up. Anyone want to bet on what I will find if I get up from the table and walk out to the end of the driveway? Drum roll please. Drrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

Fuck. Nothing. They are dicking with me. My faith in the system is gone. I'm going to stop voting. No more shaving either. Bathing - forget it. Why even get out of bed? Maybe I'll just turn into a giant insect and crawl around upside down in my bedroom.

I know what it is. It's that Christmas tip I didn't give. That's what it is. What are you supposed to do? Put cash in an envelope and stick it out there and hope that no one picks it up before the paper person gets it at 5 AM? I don't know. But I am paying the price for my dithering now.

Sigh, one more of life's pleasures taken away. Just shoot me - please. Or at least get me another cup of coffee.

P.