Spells of Danger (i.e. my life is NOT exciting enough)

It keeps happening. These gosh darn, let’s get dangerous episodes. It’s as if I’m not clumsy enough as it is. Like my existing medical bill is feeling a little lonely sitting there on my desk…all by itself, asking me to get dangerous. I hear it whispering, “live a little.”

Garbage Disposal:

I turned on my garbage disposal and without thinking…there was my hand, in the sink, moving the leftover scraps of cucumber closer to the “black hole of danger finger death.” Before I realized it, the growls and gurgles of the disposal reminds me that I do, indeed, love my hands and would like to keep them. My face gets flushed and I take a step back, and caress my man hands. Left is telling Right, “it’s okay buddy…it’s not that bad. I’m here for you. Let’s deal with this together…you’re not as manly looking as you think.” My body tingles. It’s the adrenaline.

My Swivel Chair Doubles as a Step Ladder:

Swivel chair. I use it for step ladder purposes and it’s the most dangerous object in my apartment. Swivel chair is like Winona Ryder’s character, Susanna, in Girl Interrupted. Everyone’s (the rest of my furniture) jealous of it, it’s unstable, and can seriously cause harm to others near on or around it. When I realized how rewarding it was to grab my sweatpants from the tippy top of my closet using swivel chair, it was like crack and I was some bum in 1^st and Pike St..

I might make cupcakes tonight so I’m going to need to grab that cupcake to-go tray that’s hidden on the top shelf above my fridge. I’m going to need that chair.

I ran out of clean glasses…I’m going to need those Kerr jars that are hiding above my stove for water. Swivel chair to the rescue!

The swivel chair is probably from 1991 and the wheels fall off of it all the time, especially when applying a ton of weight on linoleum surface. To this day, I’ve fallen from the chair twice. It pains me to admit that I have bruised my forearms, elbows (yes, you can bruise those bad boys), and butt from using the chair in my kitchen. But the idea of being able to balance, whilst grabbing a much needed object on the most unstable piece of (shit) furniture ever…is like…a high. Is my life this boring, really?

Fire Alarm:

I’m sitting in a bar. Writing. Yes, I’m announcing what I’m doing in real time. I’m sitting next to this fire alarm thing and thinking,

If I could just pull that lever. Just a quick tug. Like accidentally. ITWOULDBESOFUN.

But I mean it wouldn’t be that fun. It’d be like…fun in my mind, until I realized what I’d just done and then the firemen, police, and annoyed patrons having to leave their drinks and evacuate from the bar for half an hour, gave me murderous faces.

This is what I have to keep reminding myself about when the urge to grasp the lever overcomes me so badly that I have to think about ugly people to distract myself.

Plants:

This isn’t a danger to me. Just my plant, Atticus. I haven’t fed  him for 2 weeks. I’m an asshole. So I fed him today and he was so excited he had an accident.

Oh Atticus....