Chaos Theory

The best laid plans….. If you don’t believe me ask a certain Scottish bard or a depression-era novelist. My whole life I have attempted to demonstrate the correctness of the principal---not using Mickey, or Tom, or Jerry---but Donald, and Daffy, and Sylvester.

Last night, and today, has been another of those successful proofs. I had a chore to do that had to be done between 9 AM and 10 AM. I normally have few appointments. My time is my own, to schedule, or to fritter, as I choose. Last night, unusually tired, I was in bed early. Certainly wouldn’t have to worry about making this time slot. Wrong!

In the wee, morning hours there was more activity around here than you can expect in a given month, a daytime month. Party-goers came home unwilling to either quit, or take it indoors. A booming car stereo was apparently patrolling each street, repeatedly. One of the neighbors has just acquired a new puppy, and it has voiced its fear and loneliness, in that cute, puppy, yapping bark for two days and a night, now. Another neighbor-set were very disgusted with each other and had a bang-up fight, literally. I will see in a little while if there is any pot or pan or dish that I want to acquire from their yard.

Of course, none of this happened simultaneously. Scatter it through the night, add in the headache that it provoked, sprinkle with disgust, and you have the reason I slept through the time slot. Naturally, once it was too late to make the run on time, I promptly woke up so I could beat myself about the ears for missing it. And, again fitting the adage, it became very quiet around here, promoting deep, restful sleep for the morning hours.

Ask not what guides my life. Chaos and irony are my dearest friends.