That Time

Inspirational song: You Never Give Me Your Money (The Beatles)

Another bunco night has come and gone, and another five dollar buy-in is just gone. Ah well. At least it is still cheaper than spending a few hours watching a movie. I love the chance to see old friends and meet new people, but I would never be able to support myself as a professional bunco player (do those exist?). There are prizes for playing really well, and there are even prizes for failing spectacularly (both losing more than anyone, and wiping out all your team's points more often than anyone else). But more often than anything, I am right down the middle. I neither win too much nor lose too much. I'm there for the gossip, I guess. I came in late on a conversation about astrology (I was distracted, more on that in a second), and I didn't participate in it to speak of. But since the topic came up, I suppose I am a stereotypical Libra even as a bunco player. Balanced, right in the middle. Too bad we don't award a prize for that.

My timing was terrible today. I had awful time management skills, and felt double booked this evening. I had to run out to buy hardware this afternoon, and had just started looking for the fasteners I needed when my calendar notifier chimed. I had to race home and get ready for bunco, while at the same time listen to the second round game of the basketball tourney. I played it on my phone, and tried to keep the volume low, as I listened to the game on headphones, while we set up the room to play. I tried to be able to understand conversations and be social, and hopefully didn't do that loud talking that people do with headphones in. But I was completely invested in the game in my ear, which thankfully ended seconds before the game in front of me started. (If you're wondering, my Buffaloes did it again. They move on to the semi-final round tomorrow, but we have lost to Arizona twice this year, and I don't expect tomorrow to be different.)

I did get the timing right in one case today. I remembered before it was too late to bring inside the tender young pea plants I potted this week, a few hours before the last (?) big cold front came through. My old friend, the orange geranium is spending one more night in safety as well. If being at the mercy of my cats is considered safety. I don't need to check the calendar to know that I have entered the most dangerous time of year. This is when the magic happens. Unbidden, my car steers itself over to the garden center side of big retail stores, and of their own volition, my feet march in through those gates. My eyes search the bright early blossoms, and my hands grab black plastic pots without my permission. And don't get me started about the willful disobedience of my debit card. It's not my fault. It can't possibly be. It's a vast plant-wing conspiracy.