The Blackout

I’m not going to lie.  I had a really hard time writing this week.  Actually, I wrote a lot but believe with all of my heart that the majority of it should be thrown into a dumpster fire. I’m not sure if it’s because it’s September and I’m still sweating or if I’m just overwhelmed with all of the first day of school pictures or if there’s just too much going on in the universe to think but I was not particularly impressed with myself this week.  So grab a cup of tea, your daily coffee, your vodka disguised in a water bottle, whatever poison you’d like and get comfy.  I’m going to write this friend to friend, tell you a little story and hope it’s entertaining enough that you don’t blacklist this page when you’re finished.

I came home from work last week to a brownout.  If you don’t know what a brownout is, imagine your home is on a dimmer.  It’s like barely having electricity.  The timing couldn’t have been better because it was in the high 90s and who needs AC in that kind of heat anyway, right? So I’m in my studio apartment Greek/Italian sweating like the nightmare I am, reminding myself I’m an independent woman who can handle anything that comes her way.  It was a true Cool Runnings bathroom mirror moment.  Insert total blackout here.

So this is the part where I turned into Kevin McAllister from Home Alone when he’s telling himself not to be afraid anymore just before he runs into the house screaming and hides under a bed for twelve hours.  Total panic attack on legs.  Honestly you would have thought it was midnight in Concord, 1775 and someone had yelled ‘The British are coming!’   I text my friend to say I’m on my way over.  At this point I don’t even care if I’m invited or wanted.  I’m running around my 500 square foot apartment using my phone flashlight gathering anything I might need.  20 minutes later, I have a bag packed with workout shoes, a computer and a bottle of Veuve.  Cause priorities.

So I’m making my way to the car and it’s pitch black outside.  My hands are full and my apartment complex has become a virtual haunted house.  I am downright terrified.  For those of you who don’t know, my apartment was broken into last spring while I was sleeping.  Apparently I still have some residual fear I need to conquer.  Today was not that day.  My hands are shaking so bad, I can’t even hold my key straight.  If anyone witnessed me dash from the gate to the car, you’re welcome.  I’m finally in the car.  Get me out of here.  I press the garage opener.  How dumb am I?

Answer:  really, really dumb.  So I’m in the car as I realize I’m the biggest idiot in all of the land.  How do I have a 4 year degree, seriously?  So now what?  Time to call for an Uber/Lyft.  The only problem being there’s no service in the parking garage.  This has perfect crime scene written all over it.  I’m that basic girl from every horror movie ever made running up the stairs while being chased around her own house.  If this were a competition for a Darwin Award, consider me the ultimate American Ninja Warrior.  I’ve somehow convinced myself that in a matter of minutes, every mass murderer in the country has made his or her way into my parking garage and is waiting for me to get out.  So I sit in the car for awhile trying to build up the courage to make a run for it again.  Meanwhile my friend surely thinks I’ve been eaten by a zombie.

So what did I learn from all of this?  That I have the power to make things worse than they truly are, that it truly is possible to embarrass yourself while you’re by yourself and that I probably wouldn’t be a victor in the Hunger Games.  While my fear of the dark is obviously a real thing, all jokes aside, there are far worse things happening.  With the rebuilding of Houston and the destructive pathway of Irma making its way through the Caribbean as I write this, there is true tragedy being dealt with and my heart goes out to all of those who have been and will be affected in any way.  Stay strong and safe. xx

 

 

 

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