a fiddley day

It's a fiddley day today, but someone has to cope with it.  Booking tickets is bad enough but adding other people into the mix, then it's like herding cats.  This is when it  would be lovely to have a clone, or a secretary, personal assistant or wife to look after the details. 

Well, I had a friend whose  husband encouraged her to look after the details, even though  he had a secretary.  He thought it would be good for her to get used to doing it before he died.  Guess what? She died first. 

I can remember a terrible selfish pang of pain or jealousy a few months after my husband died when I was visiting  friends and we were going to a party together and when we were ready to leave the house, my friend slipped her lipstick into her husband's pocket.  That's all she needed. No keys, no driver's license, no money, nothing.  Just her husband's strong arm and generous pocket.  I had always taken them for granted until I started coping entirely by myself, 24/7, as they say.

 I'm planning a number of different events and trips and if they don't work out, I have only myself to blame.  When I do goof I make a note not to do that again.  But there's always something else and that's annoying, too,  something you overlooked or forgot or thought maybe it would work out. but it doesn't.  It never does.  I hate those movies where things go wrong. They're billed as comedies but they're not, they're reality shows.  I hate reality shows.

I hate fiddleys.