Saturday, May 17, 2014

Week. End.

Well, this has been one hell of a week.

That's pretty much all I have--or want--to say about it.  That, and this:


I knew going into it that it was going to be somewhat busy and dicey, but it certainly exceeded all expectations on that front.  And then it threw in a couple of curve balls to boot.

My headlight blew out on the passenger's side, and I know how to fix it (as demonstrated here), but one key to fixing it is that you don't accidentally drop the bulb and the housing socket down into the engine area somewhere, never to be seen again.

Sonofa...  I called that headlight a lot of names I'll bet it's never been called before, I can tell you that.

You know it's bad when, at one point, I think, "I'd better watch my language.  My neighbors go to church every Sunday and they may be able to hear me," and my immediate response is, "Yeah, well, f*** them and f*** that," and then I simply pick up where I left off, knee-deep in a stream of English verbiage that no king would ever officially condone.

At such moments, my kitty cats would tell you, "Just hide under the bed for a bit.  She's really a very lovely person."

Anyway, the headlight will get fixed.  Just not this week, because this week has been jinxed from the start.  Seriously.  

On Tuesday, I told my best friend, "Well, this has been quite the friggin' little Tuesday, hasn't it?"  And as I said it, inwardly, I felt a small twinge of despair at the sheer realization that, in fact, it was only Tuesday.

Somehow, I just knew.  This was not a good sign.

Along about Wednesday, I made the executive decision not to knit until I had clearly made it through this particular existential phase, because I was relatively certain that if I tried, I'd accidentally end up-- at worst-- hanging or garotting myself or-- at best-- tying myself to the couch (and not in a good way).

By Thursday, I had suspended all cooking activities and anything involving flame, flammable materials and/or sharp implements.

You'd think that, if things keep coming at you out of left field, at some point, you'd get used to that and respond with grace and finesse.  Instead, you're simply blindsided once again, and all you can do is think, "I can't believe this is totally coming at me out of left field.  Again."

[Sidebar: Because I'm like that, I looked up the origin of the phrase "out of left field."  It's obviously from baseball, but it's widely disputed exactly how it originated.  One assumption is, because the left fielder has the farthest throw to first base, it's unlikely that a ball thrown from left field would get a runner out.  It's also been suggested that a ball thrown from left field to home plate would come from behind the runner, which would be unusual.]

Long story short, it's weeks like these where I find myself thinking, "Thank god I'm an introvert.  Thank GOD."

I really don't know how extroverts do it.  Because people are definitely not all they're cracked up to be, sometimes.  Honi soit qui mal y pense.

The good news is, it rained this morning, and that means that several of my rain barrels are now full.  If you're thinking, "Oh, c'mon, Thinker, there has to be something else--rain barrels?  That can't be it for the week," I'm here to tell you, yes, it can be, and yes, it is.

Week: END.  (Please.)

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Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote, "Life is short, but there is always time for courtesy."