I rather dislike writing about all my foibles and weaknesses but you know, as a writer, I write about what I know. And boy do I know foibles.
I’ve had a challenging time keeping up with normal household duties since… well for a long time. So, my brain seems to be working a little better these days and I decided it was time to do something about the mess in my apartment and all the unpacked boxes in my two “spare” rooms. These rooms really aren’t spares as they are stuffed full of things that won’t fit in my bedroom, living room or kitchen. That will be another story.
As I was gathering up the garbage to take it out, I noticed an unusual and fairly unpleasant odor. There was no raw meat in my trash… no rotten fruits or vegetables… so it was a bit of a mystery for a minute. Just a few seconds over a minute later I realized the putrid odor was coming from my empty trash can. Ewwww. I sprayed room freshener in it but then it just smelled like flowery vomit and that may have been worse.
My trash can in the kitchen is black. My eyes are several decades old. I held my breath and nearly stood on my head inside the receptacle to see what I hadn’t seen in the past howevermany weeks. There was liquid of an unknown origin in the very bottom, lurking in the dark ridges of the can. Gross.
I made a wipe with three layers of Bounty and flipped myself upside down again to wipe it out. All it really did was make me dizzy.
“Okay, Jyll,” I said to myself since there is no other living thing here to talk to except plants and they aren’t very conversational. Don’t be a dummy!”
I picked up this stinky plastic thing and tiptoed to the bathroom, holding it with one finger by the lip around the top. I put it in the shower and turned on the water. Look at me, I thought. I’m actually washing out my own trash can!
In order to wipe it out I once again had to stand on my head, over the side of the tub, attempting to balance myself any way possible. I guess I should say here I get dizzy when I stand on my head. Sometimes I get off-balance just walking at a quick pace, let alone standing on my head. I considered myself lucky to have not fallen by this point.
When I had the thing dried out (good enough for government work) I lifted it over the edge and set it down, but not before I began to teeter back and forth from my heels to my toes and from one foot to the other. I reached for the nearest thing I could reach for which was the over-thetoilet bathroom organizer I had to buy because my rental until has no medicine cabinet or shelving or any of those “modern” conveniences. It doesn’t even have a towel bar. Anyway, it didn’t take long for that to start to teeter with me because, as I’ve stated multiple times, this is a rental unit, and I didn’t attach it to the wall out of courtesy to my landlord. Oh boy. Oy Vey. O Em Gee.
Eventually I stopped teetering and interrupted the motion the organizer had created, brushed myself off and carried it back to the kitchen.
Remember the microwave cart I told you about last week? The one that was spread all over the floor while I figured out how to read the stupid instructions? It was still on the floor at the time of this unfortunate event. It could have been tragic, but thankfully, I manipulated myself through the piles of hardware I made without incident. I couldn’t believe it. Still in shock, I put a clean bag into the trash can and immediately turned around, turning my attention to the sink full of dirty dishes. I was not quite as stable as I’d have liked to be, but I know myself (which I have to admit is not fun some days) and knew if I didn’t get right at it, I would sit down and forget.
The dishes got washed but not without a shortness of breath on my part (comes with heart failure and COPD), so I decided it was time to sit for a minute or two. Or ten.
I carefully maneuvered around the pieces of unassembled microwave cart that laid on the floor between the kitchen, living room and front door (I didn’t think that one out very well) and made it to my already well-worn loveseat that pretends to be a real sofa in my apartment.
It was at that point my inner ear had enough nonsense. I teetered. I tottered. I spun around (at least it felt like it) and finally I totally wiped out! Lucky for me, I fell onto the loveseat. The only casualty was a bruise on my shin as it scraped against the coffee table on my way down. Or on my way sideways. Or at some point. It’s all a blur. And no one would know it was there as it simply made its mark on the artwork on my leg created by an array of bruises of assorted sizes and colors. Who needs a tattoo? Just age a bit and lose your balance.
And that’s okay too because you know what? The trash is out, the can is cleaned, the dishes are done and I’m still in one piece.
Thank you, Jesus!
Now for a nap.
