Ya Know What I Was Thinking?

Livin' On the Edge

         Sometimes it's the little things that get to a person. I often wonder, when I'm watching one of those true-crime documentaries where some woman went over the edge, chopped her husband up and fed him to the neighbor as a meatloaf: What really pushed that last button? Was it a bit of rust on a not-so-stainless stainless steel spoon? Was it one of those 3M Command Hooks that never damage the wall...except half the time they peel a patch of paint the size of a half dollar off? Perhaps she was simply baking a cake for which the recipe couldn't figure out whether to use English or metric measurement: use 1 cup flour and 10 milliliters of water.

         Well, I haven't quite gone 'round the back end of the rainbow, but I do feel the frustration. I reckon it's universal though. You ever put something together from Ikea? It takes 14 of those screws with the hexagon in them. But six other bolts, all the same size as the hex-head bolts, need a Phillips head screwdriver? "Place Panel A onto Panel D, then tighten screw OQ." Wait—Panel B is in the way of Panel A; and once I do move B, when I put Panels A and D together, the hole for OQ is covered! What the hell?! Forget it; I needed firewood anyway.

         It's no better if I try to escape to the garage, though. Maybe today's the day to change that headlight bulb. Well, what do you know? I have to take off the entire front bumper! Or, as an alternative, I can try to wedge my arm into a space a mouse would find claustrophobic...after taking off the wheel well covering that is held on by three 10mm bolts, three 7mm bolts, and one 1/2 inch bolt! And 2 of the aforementioned Phillips head screws. I think there's a conspiracy between Dodge and Ikea! Hell with it, I don't like driving at night anyway.

         Maybe reading will soothe me...but no, it just sends me into the bathroom looking at the razor with menacing thoughts. (Don't worry; it's just a safety razor. It may not be deadly, but I'mma shave the shit outta somebody if I snap!) When I start reading, I get tense tension. Why? Because "Julia rides her bike to Melanie's house and stood on the doorstep until Melanie answers the door." It makes my eyeball itch. Either something happened, is happening, or will happen at some point in the future. (My laundry usually falls into this latter category). I know, I know: there's still nuances and perfections and participles, and all sorts of nifty little modifiers. But it boils down to when the damn thing happened. Unless Schrödinger's cat has business with Melanie, her visitor can't interact with her in the past and the present at the same time. (Although that does offer an interesting discussion of perception of the present actually taking place one or two milliseconds in the past, making humans always perpetually reacting to the past instead of truly experiencing the present. But that's not important right now: no one ever became homicidal because of slow reflexes. Homicided, but not homicidal.)

         Aw, see?! Now I got one eye twitchin', the other itchin', and I ain't even got to plurality agreement or voice consistency! AUGH! Oh well...maybe reading's not for me, either. I think maybe I'll just go lie down. Hopefully I can figure out how to set my alarm for 13:30. PM.

         You enjoy the afternoon. For me: sweet dreams of loose screws and car boo-boos, time loops and sharp knife...and a recipe for a very special one-pound-three-milligram meatloaf for Fred next door.