Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Dull Moments Don't Live Here

At 10:30 yesterday morning, I was sitting in my office throwing back multiple handfuls of Sour Patch Kids as I went through my e-mails. A co-worker knocked on my door and brought in/introduced me to a new staff member. I didn’t say much, what with my near-overflowing mouthful of delicious gummy, tangy candy. I enthusiastically nodded, cornily smiled, and radiated nothing but positivity until they finally left. I then went back to vigorously polishing off my stash. Moments later, right before going out to get coffee, I quickly checked my reflection in the hand-held mirror I keep in my desk drawer to make sure my mouth wasn’t covered with sugar granules. My mouth certainly was covered with the granules. But as I wiped them away, I noticed that something else wasn’t right. I was wearing two different earrings – one was a huge pearl and the other was a tiny silver stud. For two full hours, I had been walking around Upper- and Midtown-Manhattan looking like a joker. Is it time to stop getting ready for work (and doing pretty much everything else) in the dark?

The earrings came off and I went down the street to get coffee. Not even ten minutes after returning, I went to the bathroom and glanced at the full-length mirror on my way out. My cardigan was completely misbuttoned. I don’t think I’ve ever seen an article of clothing misbuttoned like this. And then I looked further up, only to take in how I had broken out into hives on the entire left side of my exposed chest area. I went back to my desk to call someone to talk some trash about all of this. But then came the realization that I had left my cell phone at home – and I no longer know anyone’s number without it.

As organized and capable and responsible as I am, I have a long history with these kinds of silly, rapid-succession-occurring snafus. This kind of stuff actually used to faze me/really stress me out. Everyone else around me always seemed to be blissfully able to get through their days without the constant barrage of annoying bloopers. As recently as a few years ago, a morning like this would have bothered, saddened, or even angered me. Now instead of tearing up, I’m cracking up, genuinely regaled by this shit. This is who I am, this is what I do – and I’m owning it. It’s free, easily-come-by entertainment, and I do believe I’ll step right up and take it. I mean, I don’t know if I would have had anything else to smile and chuckle about before noon yesterday. Dammit, I’m a character. What’s next? How come the clown schools haven’t been knocking on my door? Do they offer financial aid?

Placing it all in proper perspective, mismatched earrings, wardrobe malfunctions, and inexplicable hives are the least of my hardships – seriously, they are. I realized long ago that I’m not someone who was meant to have anything close to a boring life. There are a lot of people who do seem generally destined for and wedded to their simple, humdrum, daily lives. I’m not even a peripheral member of that crowd – and, when I take the time to stop and think about it, I’m not so sure I really want to be.

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