Here's an abbreviated account of my recent troubles:
There was that cake I made that kind of imploded. That was after having to make it twice because the first attempt turned out way too thin.
Then I got cake grease all over my new shirt.
And I broke my biggest mixing bowl.
Then there was the whiskey. A parting gift for a friend, I had to pick it up in Costa Mesa at an exorbitant price (apparently worth every penny, but I don't drink whiskey so what do I know). I accidentally left the whiskey too long in the warm car. It uncorked itself. All over the floor of the backseat.
Which meant my car had to be detailed.
Having never detailed my car before, I didn't know they left the plastic on the seat because the seat was damp. So when I picked it up, I whipped off the plastic without a thought and sat right down on a wet seat.
This was after I'd already vacuumed out half my car because I'd knocked over two succulents, spilling almost a full pot of soil all over the passenger seat.
I hosted an open mic night the other day and managed to knock the microphone over, getting my foot completely knotted in the cord while I was at it. As I stood there on my remaining foot waiting to be untangled, all I could think was, "This is my life now."
But you know, I've found a curious consequence to these minor havocs. I feel unusually blessed with things being normal, and incredibly grateful for anything above average. I bought myself some peonies on my lunch break earlier this week, and they nearly made me cry they were so beautiful. (Even after accidentally dropping one in the trash.) We should take time for peonies, and for pancakes and people watching, taking the longer route, opening the windows, pausing with the cup of coffee. If it takes disaster to notice these things, then let disaster come. But it shouldn't take disaster. We should live with our eyes wide open.