I’m under the mindset that there are good days and bad days and that most of the time, people get to choose.
The dawning of my bad day was more like late afternoon. Well, it hasn’t really been a bad day, no one’s died except a bird and it could’ve died yesterday, or judging by the smell, the day before….Anyway, it’s been more of a string of frustrating events.
First, when I get home from work, my dog drags in a dead bird and settles in the living room to chew on it like a bone. I tell him to take it outside and he does, a pungent smell wafting after him as he goes. Next, I get stood up in a book study, (which can I almost say I almost expected it?). I actually read and contemplated the material too! Totally prepared for good discussion.
Then, I had graciously volunteered to make dinner because my cooking skills are getting rusty and I want a break from all the meat my mom cooks and I don’t eat (I guess being vegetarian has it’s ups and downs. The downs usually come when food and carnivorous company collide). I decided on French onion soup and roast beef sandwiches, to satisfy the need for meat that the male species has. I end up adding too much sugar to the soup and burn black the bread for the sandwiches. (damn broiler.)
Now I’m starting to get sick of this sad tale, but I’m almost done.
In a fit of productivity brought on by frustration, I tend my myriad of houseplants, which I have dutifully been neglecting for the past few weeks. When I go to water them, their dry dry soil rejects my peace offering and pees it all over the floor, and in one instance, my collection of journals from the past ten years of my life. I mop it up and then go out to sacrifice a plant I’ve decided I don’t like and the moon’s not even up to watch me throw it on the compost pile. Sheesh.
The only conclusion I can reach is that pessimism breeds comedic moments, but then again, maybe that’s a choice.
