Fri, 19 May 2006 08:37:12 GMT

the post in which there is so much trauma that you may need to blink more often than usual.

SERIOUSLY.

TODAY.

I got out of bed and nearly hit the floor like a sack of potatoes because my foot was asleep. Then, because I woke my foot, it began to punish me immediately with a sensation that felt like something akin to Dick Cheney trying to hunt birds around my ankles.
Only a few feet further as I entered the hallway, my limp, dragging leg knocked into a box full of packed materials. In an effort to quiet the loud noise that was a result of said collision, I threw my body towards the wall facing away from the box. This resulted in a) another loud noise, albeit more of a thud than a clank; and b) a large bruise on my arm.
In the bathroom, where my helpful landlord has installed a TINY GREEN WATERING CAN to catch the drips from the leaky toilet, I groggily (look at how cute that word is! groggily... makes me think of tiny, singing frogs) hopped into the shower and immediately attempted to wash my hair with conditioner. "Why won't it lather?" I thought to myself, and applied more in hopes that the suds would come.
Only after about three minutes did it occur to me to open my eyes and discover that my hair was about to become more manageable than a whole roomful of Wal-Mart greeters.
My blowdryer billowed smoke. I smelled like a forest fire when I was done.
I got halfway down the street before I realized my flip flops were on the wrong feet.
On the bus, the driver braked so hard that I flung my iPod into the lap of a man I do not know. While the headphones were still in my ears.
Within the first two sips of coffee I had, my cup leaked. On my chest.
Ten minutes later, it leaked again. On the other half of my chest.
I was coffeetating.
A co-worker lent me a "stain pen" to try and save me from the slings and arrows of coffee blotches, but the pen actually caused the stains to expand into grayish greasy spots shaped like Texas and Ohio, respectively.
I sent an email to a blogger I really admire in which I spelled my own name, "Merf."
I printed out a draft of something in which I'd typed the placemarker phrase, "HERE YOU SHOULD SAY SOMETHING INTELLIGENT" ... without adding the content to replace it.
I sneezed with a mint in my mouth and it shot over the wall of my cubicle.
I don't know where the mint landed.
I finally decided to take home all the travel mugs I've been harbouring at work, and packed them all into my valise to take home. Obviously, it was too full of cups to zip up, so I wore my bag open while I walked to meet Catherine at the mall. I walked into Starbucks and immediately caught the eye of every person in the store as I stood next to a travel mug display with my bag full of rattling merchandise. I thought they were going to tackle me.
I left Starbucks WITHOUT MY PASSION TEA LEMONADE. And believe me, I was in need of Passion. If only as an ingredient in my beverage.
On the way up the mall escalator, my sunglasses fell off my head, tumbled down the steps, got half-eaten by the automatic stair mechanism, and finally died beneath the feet of a very fat man in a moss-coloured suit.
In the Gap, where I went to get a cheap t-shirt to wear while I helped Catherine shop, a woman in running shorts budged ahead of me in line with the excuse that her heart rate was slowing. I would have given her a wedgie but SHE ALREADY HAD ONE.
Catherine and I found nothing for her to wear for the wedding she is going to this weekend. However, Catherine coined an excellent phrase to describe half of what we saw: "That is just a BIG PIECE OF UGLY."
I inhaled a loose feather from a tacky hat I tried on.
I put my laundry in with a roll of SweetTarts in my skirt pocket. Oddly, they did not dissolve in a hot washload, leading me to fear that there are thousands of SweetTarts lodged in my belly, trying to reform into hard little discs that will then terrorize my colon.
I ran in to catch the beginning of the season finale of ER, and slid under the coffee table by accident.
ER was totally implausible. And really lacking in Shane West. Who used to suck because he was in Mandy Moore vehicles but now seems kinda... cute.
I tweezed my eyelash accidentally.
I burned my crotch with Sleepytime Tea.

I don't understand how I lived through it. I don't know what tomorrow will bring.

But I promise to tell you all about it.

blogcabin

the post in which there is so much trauma that you may need to blink more often than usual.