Even when I wake up late, surrendering any wiggle room to ensure I look and feel decent, sacrificing making a healthier and money-saving lunch, running out the door “OHMYGODOHMYGOD” to catch the first bus that will still get me to work late, I get to work on time.
It’s kind of disappointing. I’d at least like things to be consistent.
These days start out as failures, naturally, and should be taken more lightly than a goose feather falling out of your parka. (Too Canadian for you? Sorry.) But as hilarious and consequence-free as this morning’s gaffe is, it’s part of a broader character trait – that the drop of a hat, or any other object for that matter, I can start a streak of all the little fuck-ups you can imagine.
My life goes in streaks – winning streaks of being responsible, clean, healthy, sociable, and all around together; or losing streaks of forgetting key things, buying faulty products, ignoring any home-making to be done, and looking like shit several days in a row. I haven’t yet plotted these periods against the cycles of the moon to find a pattern for future preparation, but that may be a fruitless endeavour. Mistakes will always be made from time to time. My style, it seems, is to make mistakes continuously from time A to time B.
My chin will break out and I will cut myself shaving (…my legs or armpits, people, I am and look female). I will sleep in on an important work day. Grocery bags will fail on me. I will get splashed by dirty slush by an overcompensatingly-large truck. I will drop pots and pans for loud crashing noises the whole building can hear. I will trip and fall. Oh man, will I trip and fall. I will forget appointments, lose a contact lens (sometimes behind my eyeball) and almost get hit by a car.
But in winning streaks my budget balances with a surplus. I have a good time, learn new things, and get complimented on something or many things. I maintain solid energy levels by day and sleep well at night. My apartment is clean and I eat good food. The Jets are winning. I’m organized and ahead of schedule. I begin to think I’ve finally matured into a grown, responsible human being. Then my chin breaks out. And there goes that.