my day:a half dozen of eggs splattered on my kitchen counter and floor, a bowl cracked in two, and a broken chair.
I’m just waiting for the inevitable aneurysm to round out the evening.
This has not been the best week for bodily injuries, pain, or my general ego. We’ll go chronologically–Let me set the background: *flashback* When I moved into my old apartment after being an RA (“OH CONAN!”), I bought a cheap, yet seemingly functional lamp. After a couple of days I realized that it was a touch lamp; after that, I realized that it was a thought-touch lamp, well, preemptive thought lamp, it would turn off randomly because at some point in the future, I would want it to be off. It was just fulfilling its lot in it’s lamp-life. *Present time* Now that I have moved into my new place, the possessed lamp is in my office. When I was tinkering with the inner-workings of my computer, I accidentally leaned forward, briefly touching my head to the metal base of the lamp. As it turns out, that lamp has a short somewhere in it and it decided to discharge through my face. There is a certain feeling of wonderment/terror when you can see your eyes convulsing. It’s that moment between initial surprise and your reaction that you get the best thoughts, mine was: I wonder if I’m going to blow out the fuse box. All in all, the worst part was that I had my foot under the desk and when the surging bolts of electricity made me jump, my big toe on my left foot got seriously scratched up.
Second event that proves that inanimate objects are trying to kill me:
I was cooking dinner, using the stove to heat up some chicken. After 15 minutes at 450 degrees, the stove gets rather hot. And when I’m pulling my meal out of the stove I notice a rather pungent (and not pleasant) smell coming from the oven. Here was my thought, “What ever smells like that, I ain’t eating it.” Of course, the smell was me. To be more accurate, my arm, which had been resting on the inside of the oven door. The worst thing about burns is that the feeling isn’t just momentary, it sticks with you. as it is doing right this very moment on that red mark on the underside of my arm.
As Kermit says, it easy being green… yeah, well, it’s not easy being splotchy and electrocuted either.
by the way, I didn’t flip any breakers. darn.
You know, when you rip your pants, it’s really just a passive-aggressive way of your clothing telling you that it would like a divorce. If my pants could have talked today in the car, they would have said, “I think we should be worn on other people.” So here I am, left with the shreds of a former relationship. I thought we went together well, we went everywhere together–who saw this coming? We matched, never clashed. And now I have to go through the trouble of looking for another pair of pants, trying to look cool, making sure that I want to spend time in them.I think I’ll go for a run.