shoulda, woulda, coulda

(Cross-posted to LiveJournal)

When I got home I was very close to just staying upstairs, eating the pear that I'd forgotten at lunch, and lounging around watching more Politically Incorrect on YouTube while waiting for The Daily Show and The Colbert Report to come on.

But I wanted to do the nutritious thing and make a salad wrap for dinner ...

As I removed the container of spinach from the refrigerator, I heard a strange noise from above--and looked up just in time for the bottle of Frangelico to clock me on the side of the head, bounce off, and shatter on the floor. YAY.

And then the alarm in the blue room went off--signaling the possible presence of explosive gases in the apartment. SWELL. Really. Just AWESOME.

Then my parents were on the phone--me trying to clean up the spill and shards of glass with one hand--and they're nagging me about the roof situation.

Hi. I haven't eaten anything. The "explosive gas" alarm is going off. I have the deck door open to the 10 degree chill beyond in order to get the Frangelico fumes out of my home. I'm trying to clean my kitchen floor before it goes tacky with residue AND not step on broken glass. Nagging me is not a good idea right now.

I was ready to crush my mobile with my grip alone. I might do one day.

THEN when I finally had my food and was sitting in the red room, I managed to tip over my water and spill it on the floor.

I'm doing so well.

Lesson learned. If the first instinct is to stay upstairs, I should just stay the hell upstairs.