The Little Things In Our Everyday Life

You know how they say you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone?  Well I didn’t know how great of a toilet I had at my old apartment until I moved into my new apartment.  If I don’t watch myself I’m going to develop a condition where I have an anxiety attack every time I have to take a shit.


It’s also giving me a complex.  I’m starting to get paranoid that I poop freakishly more at one time than any normal human should because no matter how little or conservative I think it is, it is still almost guaranteed that it will clog up the toilet.  I’ve even tried to do in-between-poop-plop flushes to minimize the chances of the toilet getting stopped up.


And it’s an absolute no-no to drop the toilet paper into the toilet until I have tried flushing it first to see if we have a clogger or not.  I have to put down the Candy Crush game while I unceremoniously hold onto some unpleasantness while I try to flush what’s left of my dignity down the toilet.

I think I have had a total of two instances since I moved in last summer where it didn’t clog.  That’s the same number of times out of five years that I had a clog at my old apartment.  So now I want to visit my old apartment just to let that toilet know that I took it for granted and that I’m sorry.  It deserves to know what a great toilet it is.


Then the toilet in the guest bathroom.  Don’t get me started on that one.  It never shuts.up.  Tinkle tinkle tinkle blurp {water stream water stream} clunk clonk tinkle tinkle.

I have laid in bed at night staring at the ceiling and yelled at it to shut the f*ck up, doesn’t it know that I’m trying to sleep!?

And then I apologize, because it didn’t deserve that.  I’ve just been under a lot of stress and I took it out on something that hadn’t really done anything.

At which point I watch as the cat tries to exit as casually (but quickly) as possible to put as much distance between himself and the crazy lady as possible.


 But that might just be because the morning before, he had caught me pretending to be at an archeological dig while cleaning out his litter box.  Carefully clearing away the loose litter with the scoop so as to not damage the revered pee balls that had been placed so purposefully during ritual.  Or wondering what the story was behind two poop clumps being held together by a human hair.  Was it a religious artifact?  We may never know.

Which, he can judge all he wants but I’m not the one who runs back and forth as I’m doing sit-ups, and act like I’m purposely trying to avoid petting him.  Every.single.time. Up.  Run to the feets.  Down.  Run to the head.  Up.  Run to the feets.  Down.  Run to the head.  Banging his head on me, meowing and demanding to be petted.  Why do I have to be so difficult about it goddammit!?  The little knucklehead gets me laughing when he starts his shenanigans.

Outwardly I don’t lead what other’s would call a very exciting life.  It’s more or less routine.  Laundry day, litter-box day, garbage day, dishes day, grocery shopping day, work, more work, a side of work, vacuum day, pay bills day.  I don’t take much vacation.  I haven’t taken an actual full week of vacation since April 2013.  I *should* take more, I know that.  I will.

But I don’t want to live a life where I’m simply tolerating, dreading, and surviving 95% of it, and only happy or relaxed for the 5% that is set aside for vacations or night out with friends, and trying to make it to some “one-day” retirement.  That sounds like a terrible plan for life.  Just hurry, scurry, get through it get through it almost there and then relax.  Oh god, oh no, it’s time for another work week.

Too much of that and before you know it, a decade of life flies by that you have very little recollection of because you were never really there or present in the moment.  Your mind was always on something else or the next thing that needed to be done, but never really *there*.

A day will come when you regret it.  Maybe you won’t be able to put a name to the feeling, but it will be there.  Some vague notion or feeling that you missed out on something.