I am freakishly strong in some respects. This could have something to do with growing up on a farm and chucking the occasional hay bale around and picking up calves, lambs etc. Or it could be attributed to my working in a takeaway shop and having to carry around bags of frozen chips. (Fries for those on the other side of the world) Either way, I have weird bursts of strength and this has sometimes caused me more hassle than I really need. This was most evident yesterday when I decided that I must vacuum the floor of my little house.
I pranced into the bedroom to get the vacuum from my closet and pulled open the door. In most cases, the door would follow along on its tracks like it was designed to do but yesterday my strength decided to kick in and I managed to not only pull the door off its tracks but bend one of the screws that holds it in said tracks. I actually stood there in shock for a moment because it isn't often that I get to marvel at my strength and bad luck* in one go.
Then, once I realised what had happened, I thought that I would try and fix it. Being the daughter of a builder has given me a small amount of insight into fixing the occasional thing around the house. So I was there using the only chair that I have in the house to stand on while I try to manoeuvre this door back onto the railings. The chair, however, was a computer chair on wheels. Thankfully I realised rather quickly that my meagre skills were not going to win against the stubbornness of the door. Plus the images of me flying backwards from the chair, smashing my head on the desk behind me before landing on the ground kept racing through my overly imaginative mind.
So I wedged the door into some semblance of being closed** and toddled off into the lounge where I had You Don't Treat Me No Good No More by Sonia Dada playing at nearly full volume. This song always manages to make me smile because it is just a fun song and I did a silly little dance to it. You know the kind of dance you do when no one is watching and you don't really give a damn. It's the kind of dance you do and think that it looks really smooth and awesome in your head but in reality you probably resemble someone standing on an electric fence.
To cut a long story short I didn't get to do my vacuuming because I felt that the door had defeated me. Is that I good excuse for not cleaning or what?
On a different note the writing has stalled while I have family here. I have a few ideas brewing in my head but just haven't been feeling the right urge when I stare at the previously mentioned blank page of doom.
*As far as bad luck goes this wasn't too bad. I didn't end up in hospital for one and I still retain ten functioning digits spread across the normal two hands.
** Because I still harbour the occasional fear that there really is a monster in my closet and by keeping the door closed I can prevent it from getting me...what can I say, I'm still a child at heart!
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