Is there a God of Clutziness?
Because I'm fairly certain he's squatting on top of my head, with no signs of leaving. I have been a walking disaster area the past few days.
I guess it began Sunday night. I was trying to move a pan with a too-large lid. The lid that came with the pan had disappeared.
Apparently, walking in a straight line is beyond me when Sir Clutzalot squats on my head. I careened, tapped the pan into the microwave, and tossed the lid across the room.
Said lid landed in the cat's food dish, which was made of glass. "Was" being the operative word. Somehow, that one little bitty food dish managed to coat the entire kitchen in glass shards.
After cleaning the mess, I took myself promptly went to bed.
Last night, again in the kitchen, I managed to break a toothpick holder. I'm still discovering toothpicks in nooks and crannies around the kitchen.
While trying to gather up the main mass of toothpicks, I found another shard of glass. With my foot, while twisting. I can't say that I recommend dancing on glass.
Luckily, I managed to keep the blood on tile and skin, missing the area rug and my clothing. Thank the gods for minor miracles.
Finally, tonight I decided to symbolically dump the clutz trash while taking out my bag of garbage. It didn't work.
The dumpsters were mostly full, so I lifted the bag over my head to toss it on top of the pile. Care to guess what happened next? The bag ripped. I found myself coated in garbage, including a nice large pile of somewhat-fresh catnip, which fell on my face and in my hair.
I'm allergic to fresh catnip. I can handle most store-bought stuff and even the homegrown stuff in small quantities prepared correctly, but this had been bothering me in the scratchpad on the floor. That's why it was in the garbage.
It's always a nice treat to have my head coated in allergens. Lack of oxygen can bring quite a high, at least before the coughing fits begin.
I hope Sir Clutzalot finds another host (or decides he doesn't need one) before Thursday. I have a work conference at the end of the week, and it will be quite interesting enough without me inadvertently killing the guests. Or myself.
So here's to old Sir Clutzalot - may he eat, drink, and be merry, somewhere far away from me.
I guess it began Sunday night. I was trying to move a pan with a too-large lid. The lid that came with the pan had disappeared.
Apparently, walking in a straight line is beyond me when Sir Clutzalot squats on my head. I careened, tapped the pan into the microwave, and tossed the lid across the room.
Said lid landed in the cat's food dish, which was made of glass. "Was" being the operative word. Somehow, that one little bitty food dish managed to coat the entire kitchen in glass shards.
After cleaning the mess, I took myself promptly went to bed.
Last night, again in the kitchen, I managed to break a toothpick holder. I'm still discovering toothpicks in nooks and crannies around the kitchen.
While trying to gather up the main mass of toothpicks, I found another shard of glass. With my foot, while twisting. I can't say that I recommend dancing on glass.
Luckily, I managed to keep the blood on tile and skin, missing the area rug and my clothing. Thank the gods for minor miracles.
Finally, tonight I decided to symbolically dump the clutz trash while taking out my bag of garbage. It didn't work.
The dumpsters were mostly full, so I lifted the bag over my head to toss it on top of the pile. Care to guess what happened next? The bag ripped. I found myself coated in garbage, including a nice large pile of somewhat-fresh catnip, which fell on my face and in my hair.
I'm allergic to fresh catnip. I can handle most store-bought stuff and even the homegrown stuff in small quantities prepared correctly, but this had been bothering me in the scratchpad on the floor. That's why it was in the garbage.
It's always a nice treat to have my head coated in allergens. Lack of oxygen can bring quite a high, at least before the coughing fits begin.
I hope Sir Clutzalot finds another host (or decides he doesn't need one) before Thursday. I have a work conference at the end of the week, and it will be quite interesting enough without me inadvertently killing the guests. Or myself.
So here's to old Sir Clutzalot - may he eat, drink, and be merry, somewhere far away from me.