So this happened in the shower today. (The cat actually wasn’t involved. Though a random burp cloth was. Hmmmmm.) I love the juxtaposition of a mess in the space of where I strive for cleanliness. I also appreciate the irony of this happening the very day after I got on my hands and knees and scrubbed that tub. Love and appreciation aside, what a pain. I mean do you stop the shower with soap in your eyes and clean it up right then? Or do you just keep on keeping on, tip toeing around the poor little succulent that actually survived my awkward waterings…until now. (I kept on keeping on.)
It reminded me of something a friend said once about letting her life get messy. Not necessarily with potting soil and clay. She was talking about dating and shaking up the neat and pristine life she constructed for herself by allowing someone else into the mix. (Because let’s face it, other people’s schedules and weirdness and neuroses can be difficult to assume.)
I liked that.
And I liked that my shower mishagos required me to venture up to the rooftop to get more soil where I found my garden blooming despite cold and months of neglect. And I found this [I replaced the annoying dad scolding his kid in the house across the alley with Calexico]:
One more thing:
I’m pretty sure I want to marry Seth MacFarlane.