Drops-a-Doodle

For the last three days I have been aggravating the hell out of myself due to a sudden burst of clumsiness. I haven’t fallen down mind you (although with the way the weather is, all sleety and snowy and icy, it might not be far behind). I’ve just been dropping things, spilling things and managing to cut myself.

It’s rather strange how irrationally angry I get when I drop something that seems so easy to carry. It started Tuesday with a 12 pack of Coke Zero that I deftly banged into god knows what, which busted a can in the case, which then started leaking all over the damn place. It was quickly followed up by cutting my thumb with my own fingernail while angrily reaching for paper towels. So now I’m bleeding ever so slightly.  After taking care of that caramel colored mess I just needed something fast to eat. I was just starving and felt some extreme hunger pangs, so I grabbed a slice of bologna (which all bachelors must have in their refrigerators by law) and was just trying to roll it up to put it in my mouth when it just dropped from my hand and landed with a splat on the floor.

“God Damn It”, I shouted to my empty apartment. I picked the bologna up and threw it in the trash. I left the kitchen simply too disgusted to carry on any further. I sat on my couch and lit a cigarette in a classic attempt to relax and try and figure out why I was so mad for dropping bologna on the floor. When a hot ash from my cigarette dropped off and burned my middle finger like the dickens. “Aahhhrrggg”, I cried. “What the hell is going on here”, I shouted again to no one.

I’m a kind and patient person. I try to treat everyone with respect and dignity. I don’t like to be mean and I do my best to be honest with everyone. I am charitable and loving and caring and don’t wish ill on anyone. So I wonder who the hell cursed me to this living hell of clumsiness. Was it something I said? Some Voo-Doo visited upon me?

These strange occurrences continue to plague me even to today. I was just getting myself a cup of coffee here at work in our break room and for once there was a fresh and full pot of coffee ready. I couldn’t believe it. I think I’ve made coffee every morning for the last two weeks. So I greedily grabbed the fresh pot and started pouring myself a delicious cup. I’m not sure if I wasn’t used to the weight of a full pot of coffee since I usually get the end of a nearly empty pot or this Karmic clumsiness wanted to continue toying with me, but as I was pouring the coffee I managed to spill a goodly amount of it on the counter. “Mother F**ker”, I said under my breath and through clenched teeth.

I just wanted to drop everything in my hands and just give the hell up and wait for the piano to fall from the sky and crush me, followed by an anchor, a cruise liner, airplane and then God’s banana peel. I’m normally very graceful, agile and sure handed. So this recent spate of the dropsy’s gets to me. I get almost volcanically angry at these minor occurrences for some reason. While the plight of the homeless in winter, which should make me angry, is just something that happens and I can easily turn the newspaper page to something else to occupy my mind. But God forbid if I drop the newspaper.