I had big plans for today’s post. OK, maybe not big plans, but plans nonetheless. I am woefully behind here on the ‘ole website and today’s post was intended to take me another step in the direction of inner peace by catching up on some back-logged posts (which I conservatively estimate to be hovering around 37 at the moment). Instead?
I am depressed.
When I think about it objectively, I really have no reason for any depression be it mild, significant, or clinical. My real-job boss is great, my wife claims she has no desire to divorce me any time soon (she, on the other hand, might therefore be in need for some counseling), neither of my boys are showing any adverse effects of having me as their father, and it appears as though I am in fairly good health.
So why do I find myself depressed today?
They took my wine yesterday.
All of it.
No, this was not a seizure orchestrated by the Pennsylvania Liquor Control Board (PLCB), who finally found out that most of the wine in my collection was acquired illegally. (In Pennsylvania, it is technically illegal to own any wine that was not purchased directly from the PLCB, and they are legally allowed to confiscate any such wine.)
Nor was the wine taken away by Child Protective Services to prevent me from going on a three-month bender and endangering the lives of my children.
And no, I did not wake up after having some sort of supernatural epiphany deciding that the consumption of alcohol was inherently evil and had to get rid of all my wine immediately.
My wine is gone because the movers came and got it yesterday to take it off to Houston, Texas. As many of you know by now, we are moving to Texas just after the July 4th weekend. Up until yesterday, that fact really had not sunk into my rather thick skull. For some reason, I thought it was all just a dream, or even a rumor, but when they carted off all the wine yesterday morning, that fact instantly became real.
Now, I am sure we will do just fine in Houston. I am sure that we will all find new friends, the three-month stint in an apartment while we wait for our house to be built will not cause our family to implode, and I will eventually find someone who makes a gun rack for a Prius.
I know all that.
I also know that my wine will likely be fine. I doubt that the company I hired to transport it will suddenly turn into a band of thieves and sell off all my wine to the highest bidder, replace all the cases with 1,448 bottles of 2010 Charles Shaw Chardonnay, ending up with mere pennies on the dollar, thinking that this was the biggest score of their pathetic, wretched lives.
I doubt that the driver of the truck will decide to have one of the bottles for himself as he started off on the 1,500 mile journey causing him to doze off while in the Smokey Mountains, resulting in a horrific crash off the side of a mountain, breaking every last bottle, except for the 2006 Charles Shaw Merlot that my brother gave me for Christmas one year, thinking he was the funniest guy on the planet for getting me some Two-Buck Chuck.
Nor will the compressor on the refrigerated truck fail soon after it crosses the Mason-Dixon line where the temperatures reach 123º Celsius in the shade on a regular basis, causing the wine to instantly cook, ruining every last bottle except the 2004 Charles Shaw Cabernet Sauvignon that my little sister gave me one year, thinking that I would love it as much as she does.
None of that will happen.
No, I am simply depressed because all those racks that took me years to fill are all now completely empty.
And it’s depressing.
I will not see those bottles again until I am a resident of the great state of Texas, where I will be able to buy my own current vintages of Charles Shaw from the local Trader Joe’s (Trader Joe’s, like all other stores, can not sell wine in Pennsylvania—all wine has to be purchased from the state-run PLCB retail stores).
First world problem.
But it’s depressing.