Rock Time

Fio doesn't know what happened, but yesterday she accidentally deleted a long post she was writing for today. Tuesday was just that sort of day. The landline went out again, and it took forever for Fio's cell to charge up so she and Husband could call to wish Baby a happy one-month birthday. Also, Husband was trying to reach Scottrade to get a copy of whatever it is that the IRS wants, and Fio was trying to reach Allstate to get copies of their auto insurance cards, which she has somehow misplaced. Also, Fio has been on-and-off sicky for the past fews days.

And what does she do when all the world has turned against her? She goes outside and tosses heavy rocks around. It's a matter of power and control.

Up, Up, and Away!

Hold on tight because Fio is on an upswing, probably because of friend Pat's good vibes.  She practiced piano yesterday, finished off all the income tax tallies, concocted a stand-up cone that now holds up a photo for her renovated shelves, left messages for all the people she was supposed to contact, and attended a neighborhood meeting.  Then--wonder of wonders, she integrated the critiques into her novella.

And today she'll (gulp) go through the Allstate information and consider her options.

Overloaded

Off to a book signing this morning, then will have lunch with nephew Aaron and his lovely bride.  Then will come home and study the information Allstate FINALLY sent to me.  Will I ever have time to write again?

Bad Day

Yesterday was not a good day.  The body shop called to tell Fio that it would cost $1800 to repair her Miata so the adjuster had decided to total it. To make it even worse, the adjuster didn't have the courtesy to make the call herself so Fiorella doesn't even quite understand what is going on except that Allstate is screwing her.

She went into shock, then anger--yes, screaming and ranting are her forte.  Then came the sobbing, the depression and despair.  Finally the dull acceptance, the final stage of grief that Emily Dickinson expressed so well:

After great pain, a formal feeling comes – (372)

Related Poem Content Details

BY EMILY DICKINSON

After great pain, a formal feeling comes – 

The Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs – 

The stiff Heart questions ‘was it He, that bore,’ 

And ‘Yesterday, or Centuries before’? 

The Feet, mechanical, go round – 

A Wooden way 

Of Ground, or Air, or Ought – 

Regardless grown, 

A Quartz contentment, like a stone – 

This is the Hour of Lead – 

Remembered, if outlived, 

As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow – 

First – Chill – then Stupor – then the letting go –