the wonderful mess that we’ve made

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a peaceful picture of the lake i like to write at, so that the hectic-ness of this post will catch you off guard


i woke up this morning in a panic. i’d been having nightmares about baby turtles the size of bugs in red solo cups. some of them had legs cut off. this probably says something about my personality. (something? anything?)

i stumbled around my room choosing clothes and a deodorant [i have four on my shelf. so what]. i threw on a shirt and unfolded a pair of jeans. then, in a style i’d previously thought was reserved for movies and other imaginary instances, i tripped and stepped my foot into the crotch, tearing the right leg completely away from the left. i sighed and put on a different pair of jeans—a little more carefully this time.

while brushing my teeth i looked at my hair, which had been carefully crafted into its usual went-to-sleep-with-it-wet look. i ran my fingers through my bangs, shrugged, and headed out the door.

work went just as smoothly as the morning. it involved slamming my hand in a door, getting my hair caught in my ring [which, ironically, is a turtle], riding a forklift up to the ceiling to retrieve a football, and unintentionally lying to an old man about lemon curd.

then i came back from lunch to find this:

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of course.

i cuffed up my pants, kicked off my rainbows [that’s how you know stuff is gettin’ serious] and went to work. i lugged the air compressor out of our warehouse into the parking lot. i tried to carry it down the stairs, but it was a little heavier than expected and it sort of ended up dragging me down the stairs [naturally, using the ramp for the wheeled compressor was out of the question]. i got it to the jeep and had to head back for an extension cord. the wind was blowing at its normal hurricane speed and today was the day i forgot to throw some hair ties around my wrist. i stumbled barefoot across the rocky parking lot, blinded by and entangled in this massive blonde seaweed sprouting out of my head. my frustration was building. i impatiently grabbed the first cord i saw, plugged it in, and pulled it out the door. i was nearly sprinting across the parking lot when the cord got caught. again, in the style of a movie, the cord yanked me back and i fell flat on my butt. i uttered some swear words as i went to see what the problem was. turns out, there was a pickaxe tangled up in the extension cord. naturally. i briefly considered using it to chop off my hair.

after i untangled the monstrous cord, i finally got the compressor working. and so there i was, gravel digging into my knees, sun beating on my back, knotted hair whipping around my face, swearing like a sailor, trying to get the tire inflated enough get to a repair place, when i looked up to one of the [really attractive] workers from the company next door asking if i needed any help. i squinted into the sun, brushed my hair out of my face, and willed my brain to come up with some human words. i reached up to pull the valve cap and psi gauge out of my mouth when that dang texas wind whipped my baggy shirt waaaaaaay up. in a very ladylike manner i pulled my shirt down, declined his offer, crawled under my jeep, and died.

and then there’s the story of how i barely made it to the repair place because my tire was leaking so rapidly. and then the one about how the dirtbag tire men tried to rip me off thinking i knew nothing about tires [or had no common sense]. or how i later dropped 72 cans of soda, trying to balance them on my knee and open a door. but that’ll have to wait; it’s 3:30 in the afternoon and i am ready for bed.

[title from flaws by bastille]


  1. You forgot the part about your coworkers answering texts for you :)

    1. I honestly considered screen shots of that conversation, but I try really hard to keep profanity off of this blog.