You know those times when everything seems to go wrong. It’s not just a day, but whole weeks at a time. Those sections of the year where things happen one-after-another, like you miss a flight and pay an of-course-highly-unfair price for a new ticket then you return home to find a mouse has eaten through all your clothes and you go to meet your friends for dinner but your tire is flat so you call them and have a not horrible but mostly inedible meal at a restaurant you wouldn’t have chosen all the while watching as two of your friends (one of whom you were just starting to think liked you) display body language that clearly shows they’re already hooking up so you go home. The next day you spend thirty minutes looking for your keys only to find that at some point yesterday they slipped through the mouse-chewed hole in your pocket. You spend another thirty minutes looking for that extra house key which you find in a cardboard box next to a sleeping rattlesnake which takes a dive at you right before you pin it down with your foot. Heart pumping, you contemplate the sweat which seems to have been released in deluge proportions and think about how you’ll have no time for a shower before work. Having nothing like shovel or ax handy, and needing to keep all of your body weight on the neck of the rattler, you spy a butter knife on a near shelf and go about a far-to-nasty snake beheading while praying for forgiveness for everything.
Later that day your boss scolds you for being late to work and breathes fire that singes your hair to nubs and sets three weeks of file organization ablaze. Thinking you’re just about over it, you decide to take a bus home but the bus has been rigged by a terrorist or Dennis Hopper or somebody and has to go above 50 mph or it will explode. You take the wheel after the driver’s been shot and you figure at least you’ll have a love interest to guide you through the ordeal but it turns out to just be Keanu Reeves who looks at you with the same scowl over and over because apparently someone somewhere told him that was reassuring.
After the bus thing has been resolved you figure you’ll write about it on your blog but the internet is out so there you are alone in your house with nothing to do but sort through your mouse-hole clothes. You take a box of totally demolished shirts and pants out to the curb and just as you’re setting it down by the trashcans a plane engine crashes into the roof of your house totally demolishing the east side along with your neighbors row of freshly planted lilies and possibly their dog as well which may now be under the dog house which is also under the plane engine.
Your neighbors run out of their house screaming about a broken gas line and the whole neighborhood starts scattering. A few of you end up running all the way to the beach where you find a row of beached sperm whales each with a small group of children next to it, crying and singing to the ocean beasts. One of the kids is bald and has leukemia. The whole scene is suddenly backlit when your neighborhood explodes.
You tell all of this to your friend, who once you’ve finished says, “You live by a beach?!”
Ok… my weeks haven’t been so bad. And I won’t bore you with the minutia, but I will say that on the third of July I traveled with my dog to the capital to have her spayed. I then went to a town by the lake to celebrate the Fourth with friends. However, I ended up with a stomach flu that kept me in bed while they had their lake times. And I called the vet who was supposed to scoop out the puppy ovaries who instead told me that no scooping could be done on account of the colony of worms living in the puppy’s abdomen (despite the many worm treatments I’ve given her). So, plagued with wormy guilt, I now have to take her back home, forget the weekend that went totally wrong and figure out when the heck I can make the multi-day trip back to the capital for puppy scooping, a trip that will inevitably involve me cancelling plans and praying pleasejesus don’t let her go into heat any time soon.