I've been failed yet again by my Inner Wise Woman of the Hills (IWWotH), and I'm starting to think she might not even exist, or maybe died, and that everything is a lie. I blame having a nice rest of my day.

Maybe it took hold sooner and I just didn't notice it, but over the past, say, five to seven years, "have a nice day" has been replaced with "have a nice rest of your day." This should not bother me.

It bothers me so much.

Someone: Have a nice rest of your day!

Me (in my head): Why is that specificity necessary? Is it even grammatically correct? What's wrong with "enjoy the rest of your day"? Are you suggesting I'm incapable of time travel and won't be living my morning again? Are you denying the multiverse? WHY ARE WE SUCH DODOS AND EVERYTHING IS TERRIBLE?!??

Me: Thanks! You, too!

As usual, my IWWotH is nowhere to be found, and I'm left to get my knickers in such a twist that I'll need a ratchet to do my laundry. And right as we're heading into the holiday season, our supposedly nicest time of year! Speaking of which:

Someone: Supposably I will try and do that.

Me (Edvard Munch's "The Scream" come to life): Grammar is dead. Grammar remains dead. And we have killed it.

Me: That's great you will try TO do it! Hooray!

My alleged IWWotH? MIA, just like the times when I eat cookie dough for dinner three nights in a row, or when I don't iron my clothes and justify it by telling myself people will just think I've been sitting down. I can only presume all those times I was told that people basically turn into the Dalai Lama with age, and that each passing year brings the calm of discerning wisdom and an unwillingness to sweat the small stuff, were a big, fat, wicked lie. I find myself very willing.

The second someone pronounces the word mischievous "mis-CHEE-vee-us" in my presence, I absolutely drench the whole place in small stuff sweat.

Me (Hulking out so hard that my pants turn purple): IT'S "MIS-CHIV-US" AND I WILL BURN EVERYTHING TO THE GROUND!!!!

IWWofH: *crickets*

And OK, fine, maybe it's not entirely fair to say that my IWWotH is dead, but she's really annoying and isn't that actually worse? To have some fleeting, inconsistent interior voice mention, while I'm mid-rant, that maybe it doesn't actually matter when someone responds "no problem" instead of "you're welcome" when I thank them?

Someone: Irregardless, that supposably happened acrosst the board.

IWWotH: It doesn't matter.

Me (gearing up for an evening of Euripides in the black box theater of my mind): Woe! WOE!!

IWWotH: Instead, you could use this energy to sing songs to children or visit old widow ladies.

Me (mentally writing a letter to the editor in Sharpie): IMMA BUY SOME KEROSENE AND A LIGHTER!!

IWWotH: You used "your" when you meant "you're" in an email the other day.

Me: Oh.

But also me: Then what about all those people who say "right on" with the same dopey intonation, so it sounds like "hriyt ahon"? WHAT ABOUT THAT???

I mean, what am I supposed to do, sweat the big stuff?

Me: The planet's warming up and I'll probably never be able to retire.

IWWotH: I'll just be over here in the adult-size beanbag chair with that really soft blanket from Costco and a bag of grated cheese.

The big stuff is a bummer. The big stuff seems to get bigger with each year, not smaller. The big stuff causes an occasional gray hair that I vainly pluck with tweezers. It makes me humble and fragile and unsure whether I'm wise or just sad.

Whereas the small stuff is an entertaining half-hour of time to kill, and I don't know why my IWWotH doesn't get this. Sweating it is some of my favorite cardio, especially ... or should I say exspecially?

Someone: Exspecially.

Me (mentally venturing onto the dark web): I WILL RUIN YOUR CREDIT!!!

Someone: Anyways, for all intensive purposes.

Me (deputizing myself): You're under arrest. Come along without a fuss and nobody has to get hurt WORSE THAN THEY ALREADY ARE!!

Someone: You're going a little nucular.

Me (returning to school to study physics and calculus so I can make a nook-lee-ar, not nook-you-lar, bomb): GAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!

IWWotH: Don't mind me, I'll just be over here. She'll get tired eventually.

Rachel Sauer is at rs81501@gmail.com and would love to sweat your small stuff with you.

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