Today has been a very stressful day, due mostly to a looming deadline and a project source who fell off the edge of the earth, leaving me hyperventilating and mewling in the distinctly quotable-quote-less VOID left behind. I spent the majority of today playing a delightful game of PLEASE TALK TO ME with a variety of professionals who, oddly enough, are busy enough working at their jobs that they do not have oodles of free time to chat with panicking journalists. Go figure.
Add to that my charming daughter coming home from school with a very interesting tale of woe, the disappearance of 75% of the socks in this household, and the touchiness of some people and/or my grievous insensitivity (take your pick! please! not that there’s anything WRONG with either of those!), and, well, it’s just been a very full day.
But I went into the kitchen to make some coffee tonight (must work! need more caffeeeeeeine!), and only one lightbulb is working in the kitchen chandelier thingie. It’s rather dim in there. So I opened the cabinet above the stove where I keep kitchen lightbulbs and (apparently) all sort of other detritus, like expired medications (??) and small containers of bubbles and my kitchen scale and some candles and an entire avalanche of items that were just waiting to tumble out. Onto my head. In the semi-darkness.
I discovered I had no lightbulbs for that fixture. I put back everything which had tumbled out, got my coffee, and returned here to my desk. Rather than returning to my work immediately, I sat here and an entire drama about how the detritus that fell on me was really noble and good and my tales of it falling out of the cabinet were greatly unfair and I should be ashamed of myself for not giving the tumbling items equal time to share their side of the story spun itself out in my head.
And in this tale I’m sure that if I apologized to the inhaler which expired in 2002 for unwittingly offending it and it refused to accept my apology on the grounds that I have offended all of pulmonology throughout the ages that it would be a good idea, at that point, to stop attempting logical discussion and instead say, “Dude, you are an INHALER. This conversation is disturbing.”
Hey, if my inhaler wants its own blog, more power to it. This space does not exist to malign my inhaler, and I hope it would understand that every time I mention breathing or even crack a joke about albuterol I am not specifically insulting it. If, indeed, inhalers think at all.
But I realized that would just be a silly story entirely too far-fetched to even be entertaining.
So then I decided that really, I should just get back to work and leave the contents of my cluttered cabinets to work things out amongst themselves. And that once I buy some more lightbulbs, I should probably find a new place to store them, because opening that cabinet is WAY more trouble than it’s worth.
Here’s hoping the point was taken, Mir. Keep doing what you do best. As Mrs. Kennedy says, “Writing Well is the Best Revenge.”
You would have loved the story I heard this weekend, on The Vinyl Cafe, Canada’s version of Garrison Keillor and A Prairie Home Comapanion. Anyhoo, the site summarizes it like so:
“Dave’s daughter leaves her stuffed bunny rabbit at home when she goes to university and Dave, who feels sorry for it, starts carrying it to work, sleeping with it at night and keeping it secret from the neighbors.”
If you can ever listen live, it’s so worth it!
ha ha, you’re so smart and witty.
if you had actually apologized to the albuterol it would be fine, but you were too busy telling it that it’s all really its fault for not being okay with being accused of causing holes in the ozone layer and slaughtering kittens to get around to that part….if you had simply stuck to saying that it eats squirrel it would have been fine.
Hmmm, what’s this here on my table?…oh, why it’s that extra Krispy Kreme donut I often pass along to certain people because I’m such a nice guy. Wow, glazed with mapmmmmmrmmrmrmph.
What was I saying again?
Mrs. Kennedy…oh so wrong about the best revenge. :-P
Did someone step on your sense of humor, Al? Inhale, and give it a rest, already.
Hey Al (aka BBE), didn’t you say something about not having alot of time to read blogs all day? Seems like NOW – as in today, right this very moment – is a good time for you to stop reading this one.
I’m fairly sure when Al Buterol’s expiration date passes, it becomes toxic to everything and everyone and should be disposed of according to the strictest of standards.
You know, for the safety to the very pretty, witty and smart people in the world…
Damnit, now I’ve done gone and lost my teeth…
Al, you clearly have a lot of things to say…But this is MIR’S blog. Why don’t you get your own? Then we can all have fun NOT reading it! Just sayin’.
So, Mir, haven’t read your blog in a few days. Looks like things are slow and dull as usual.
*backs quickly out the door*
ALSO…you ARE pretty…and funny….
I have to say, though, squirrelburger is pretty yummy with ketchup. Hold the mustard. And, of course, you have to pick your teeth with your pocket knife afterwards because they can be stringy little bastards.
For the record, Mir: You *are* smart and witty, and you write extremely well.
(My ex always hated when I referred to his parents as ignorant, redneck, inbred crackerheads, too. The truth is sometimes painful, especially when it’s funny.)
Ahem..I have a cabinet like that too. And no lightbulbs.
You ARE pretty and skinny too.
Toxic ex-husband? Er, umm… albuterol? Check.
Sorry you got saddled with that last one.