Someone left an exercise bike on my front porch.

I don’t know how long it’s been there.

It just appeared sometime after I left the empty paint cans out to dry fourteen months ago, and before today, when my son decided to prove my neglected garden box is truly decrepit by ripping it from the earth and depositing it next to the front door.

F Your I,  that kid didn’t tell me he would be digging up my garden. He just left the rotting wooden frame for me as a decoration, as if to emphasize to anyone misguided enough to visit exactly how green my thumb is not. This is my kid who experiences disability and often has a hard time expressing himself verbally. This one isn’t too hard to interpret, though. I’m pretty sure he’s saying, “Guys. Guys. Guys. My mom is SO BAD at gardening, she doesn’t just kill the plants. She kills the container, too. YOU SHOULD KNOW THIS BEFORE YOU KNOCK. I AM TRYING TO HELP YOU.”

So now there’s a bike, too. Just hanging out. On my front porch. Amid a mounting pile of debris.

Because my front porch needed one more thing to complete its junk collection?

Or as a hint?

Perhaps it’s a not-so-subtle message to get my ass in gear. Which is fine, really. I’m not offended. God knows I’ll be able to disregard that bike easily as I’ve ignored my garden and those paint cans. Ignoring miscellaneous detritus is well within my skill set, after all, as is putting off exercise. I mean, those are two of my main spiritual gifts. It’s really like whoever dropped that contraption off is simply giving me the opportunity to live my best life, you know? By doing what I’m good at. 

That is all for now. I need to get to work Not Seeing that Bike, STAT.

Sending love and waving in the dark,

 

 

P.S. I’m hoping that bike is a gift and not a loan because, frankly, I’m not responsible enough to return it in like condition should its deliverer ever want it back.

For example, my neighbor came over yesterday to loan me the meatball pages from his recipe binder. I’ve complimented his balls of meat repeatedly, as one does, so it was a kind gesture on his part.

Kind, but unwise. I meant to take good care of those pages. I meant to bring them inside and not leave them on my patio table where he’d found me and deposited them. I meant to, but Somebody in my house bugged Somebody Else, and small humans were VeryHungryPracticallySTARVING, and the dog absconded with a tampon which she subsequently deemed a Serious Threat and therefore Slaughtered in Defense of her family, leaving , and on and on and on, so I was beckoned repeatedly and at top volume by my most common name, MomMomMOMmomMom. I don’t know how it happened, but I left the pages on the patio table where they were viciously attacked by the sprinklers in the night. Now I have wads of toilet paper shoved in their plastic sleeves, attempting to soak up the water so they can dry.

I’m basically being kept company by Balls of Meat pages that look like they don’t know how to correctly stuff their bra. 

P.P.S. My sweet teens just came home from school and let me know I look like Actual Death with no make-up on. They suggested I maybe take a shower and clean myself up.

That has nothing to do with the rest of this post. Just wanted to let someone know so the authorities will know who to arrest for Their Actual Death which is imminent.