Friday, March 31, 2017

off my game

It seemed to be a bit of an epidemic among the Corey girls, this dropsiness. There were a couple of days when we all shared reports of having smashed things to bits in our respective homes. Ellie's was a much loved bowl, Julie's was something big that her husband tried to pretend was NOT a murder attempt on their poor old dog. Mom reminisced about the time when Dad broke a special bowl. It was a thing. It was amusing to me as a bystander, right up until the first crash.

It's rarely something you hate that smashes, isn't it? This was a piece that came with my lovely yellow house. It's a small corningware container from the cornflower collection. You know it well

It's the perfect size and style for microwaving without the use of vile plastic. It's perfectly sized for a portion of leftovers that need to be zapped for Clara's thermos lunch. It's just perfect. So perfectly perfect.

It was the lid that smashed. I will never understand how something approximately 8 inches square can break into such a mind boggling multitude of horrific fractals that could cut a bitch. It was tragic. A casual observer might very well suspect that I had been plotting my own canine murder plot, as my steadfast sidekick was in her usual position at my feet, snout to the ground hoping for a stray scrap, at the precise moment when the skies of horror opened upon her fool head.


Shortly thereafter, I brought home groceries on a weekend morning, and went to put the 12 pack of seltzer in its rightful place on top of the fridge. Of course, I had a second 12 pack already up there (what? I'm supposed to run out? It's like a desert in here). I used the new box to give the old box an ever so gentle scootch to make room, and it proceeded to sail whimsically right to and over the edge of the top of the fridge, straight into the abyss.

I used a combination of brute force, contortion, and a broom to retrieve all 12 cans, and none were much worse for the wear.

still functional
Take a good look at the above photo, will you?

Do you see that full bottle of delicious enchilada sauce that sits in a perfectly reasonable spot on the kitchen counter?

Do you see the abyss?

Oh yes. It did. 

Did it ever. 

So for the *second* time that morning, I pulled the fridge out from the wall. This time I had to get in there, no broomstick would serve to get that shit off the walls.

Fun fact: while I was back there, I found quite a few leftover fractals from the smashed corningware lid.

I was off my game.

It changes your perspective when objects you've always known to be inanimate suddenly come to life and turn against you. Then the check engine light came on in my car.

Was this a leeward phase of the moon? Karmic payback for some neglected infraction? The end of days? Or was I just off my game?

I made decisions in this state. I bought a whole new car! It was madness, man.

I'm happy to report that this destructive disequilibrium did  not last forever. It lifted, much like the spell of a bad mood breaks when something makes me laugh. Things started to feel like it was falling back into balance, to the point when I forgot to catalog and document the strange fog of those dropsy days.

Last night I put away some groceries after work and saw that my coffee jar was empty of ground beans, so I threw some in the grinder, but it was too much to fit back into the jar so I thought I'd just prep tomorrow's brew. Inspired, I decided to put in some overnight oats to soak for an easy Friday morning breakfast. I put in the oats and the yogurt, then grabbed the almond milk from the fridge, enjoying the gorgeous scent of freshly brewed coffee as it bubbled into the pot. When I measured the almond milk into the jar I had two simultaneous thoughts:

1. I brewed the fucking coffee

2. That was chicken broth

I'm off my game, man.


Me, You, or Ellie said...

oh my GOD. I am laughing out loud. YOU BREWED THE COFFEE! It is so hard to *not* brew the coffee. It is so hard to *not* push the button. YOU PUSHED THE BUTTON!

I am *so* impressed that you actually had the wherewithal to photograph and document your steak of destructive disequilibrium. You have a "before" photo of the enchilada sauce! I mean, come on!

My favorite part of all of this was I was getting blow-by-blow texts from you during the carnage. I loved the texts, but the visual accompaniment makes it ever that much more fantastic.

Okay. Smell the soup. Cool the soup. Put the chicken broth on a top shelf behind the chicken.

And do *not* push the button.

I love you Big, schnook.

Me, You, or Ellie said...

streak not steak.

Steak would be weird.


Beth said...

Lol, of course you brewed the coffee!

This is so funny, Jacquie. I'm so glad that the dropsy fog has lifted, or at least morphed into more subtle forms like evening coffee and chicken stock. Maybe you better get in that fridge and make up some more meals for your blue eyed man - clear that shit out.

I gasped out loud when you said your engine light came on - I thought you meant in your new Subie! Whew!