One of those days

As the cicadas rattle their last hurrahs and as the afternoon collapses into night, I am tired. But not because the day has been particularly active, just because it has been inordinately frustrating.

It was one of those days where things just didn't want to go my way, regardless of how much I tried to make them so.

First thing this morning, an appointment I had for tomorrow was canceled with little apologies and a date more than a month from today given as an alternative. Not acceptable, at all. When I said that to the rude woman on the other side of the phone, she unceremoniously hung up on me.

Second thing this morning, while I was walking the doggies, my cell phone, which had suffered an unfortunate accident and broken a hinge about a month ago, broke completely in half and turned off its lights forever.

"F**** crap from hell," I groaned, and Rusty looked up at me, as he does whenever he hears me make a sound of frustration. Now that's bad news, I thought, since it not only means a big expense but a trip to the phone store filled with frustratingly unhelpful attendants.

Third, I decide to call the contractor to find out when he's coming with the inspector to finalize the Project of the Garage, which has seemed eternal in mythological proportions, like the rolling of a rock up and down a mountain. I can't reach him, so I leave a message.

He calls back when I'm on the only phone now available to me, making another call.

The short of it is that he's not planning on coming over and he has no idea when the inspector will be here. He thinks the inspector might have already stopped by (not true, since the inspection sheet is inside the locked garage, unsigned).

I call my husband and he says to go, leave the inspection sheet outside on the gate and the garage unlocked, which I'm loath to do given that the police blotter here is filled with reports of stolen property from "unsecured" garages. But I do as I'm told and go.

I return a few hours later after running my errands without much interference from the gods, and get a call from the contractor. Did the inspector come? he asks. Yes, I say, since I've now seen that the signed sheet is in the garage, which was locked when I returned.

He informs me that the electricians will be coming today or tomorrow to change the ugly, cheap light fixture they installed outside of the garage entrance door and tells me that we need to send him the last payment.

"Sure, when the light is done we'll send it off immediately," I say nicely.

"Well," he huffs and puffs, "I'm good for that light. And, actually, I don't even have to change it, I'm just doing it to be nice." And then he says goodbye and basically hangs up on me.

Now, the actual response from me should've been: "Change the f**** light and you'll get your f**** money." But it was not.

The worst part is I know that he would've never said something like that to my husband. He was saying it to me because he knew he could get away with doing so. Like the rude woman who hung up on me knew she could get away with her rudeness.

Frustration with the actions (or inactions) of others is the hardest to forgive and forget and the most tiring because there is nothing to be done about it.

But, as I've determined to take every day as a good lesson, that must be today's: That while we can never control the idiocy, stupidity, rudeness and downright incompetence of others, we can surely control our own reactions.

Now if I only had a punching bag around here...