Just boring stuff that I do and/or doesn't fit into any other category.
It’s perfectly clear that the decisions are not mine to make. I am merely here to offer up suggestions, but at least have the grace to pretend to understand my wisdom. I have supporting documentation indicating that I give good advice.
I’m really quite a joy to be around.
I know that lately I’ve been a bit of a downer, and that the coming posts are really down. I don’t often do deep and introspective. And I know that people come here for the funny. It’s just that funny is a place I’m not occupying right now.
The Internet has a hand in this. There is much anger and sadness and mean snark. Also, the people who write things on the Internet are angry and sad and mean. How feelings can become so bruised from so far away is always so confusing.
I have dropped a few regular reads because I no longer feel the need to read their silly anger. Also, all that undirected anger is just going to bring back some bad ass karma. I don’t need anymore, I already am going to get a hookah lotta bad mojo for when I laugh at old people who fall down.
So, until the change comes into affect, or I find something funny, there’s more not funny.
There I was, minding my own business, as you do, going to the bathroom.
My pager, conveniently clipped onto my waist band, flipped onto the floor when I pull up my pants. The pager shattered into three distinct pieces: body, battery cover, battery.
Body and battery cover were fairly well behaved and remained at my feet. The battery, however, decided to make a run for it and rolled to the lowest point on the floor.
The drain.
You know that drain in public bathrooms where all the dirty water is sent after washing the horrible horrors that happen in the public bathrooms at hospitals? That is where my battery stopped. Also, with my battery, a pair of shoes. A pair of shoes attached to a set of feet. Feet that belonged to the young woman in the stall where my battery decided to take up residence.
I could have run, but I decided to be brave and face the poor person whose private time was interrupted by my freedom seeking battery. She was nice enough to pick it up and hand it to me. She was also kind enough to warn me: “It was kind of wet, I don’t know what it was in, here,” as she handed me my battery wrapped in toilet paper.
I didn’t have the heart to tell her what exactly is washed down that drain. I took it from her, and thanked her profusely, dried off the battery, washed my hand and left without further incident.
I now have a new battery.
I am about to eat a piece of cake for breakfast. Okay, I won’t because I fear the look of shame from the cafe workers. But I want to eat a piece of cake for breakfast.
Stupid boring apple.