"I did not fall down"
simple, positive statement
sad state of affairs
Yesterday, I was able to take several hours and go to a cafe to work on some edits. It was nice to get out of the house and it was nice to feel like an actual writer instead of a person who just talks about writing.
But y’all? I am out of practice as far as being in public is concerned. Let me give you a rundown of what a ridiculous Liz Lemon-y mess I was:
1. Tiny jelly jars, though adorable, are hard to manage. I had a piece of toast in one hand, a knife in the other, and the tiny jelly jar in the same hand as the toast. So I was doing this acrobatic elbow dance as I tried to dig out jelly and then spread it on the toast without having jelly drip off my knife and onto my pants.
Why not set the toast down and put jelly on it, you may ask? Well, there was a lot of crap on the table – two giant stacks of paper, a laptop, a notepad, food, etc. My toast plate was behind my laptop. Very complicated.
2. As I was winding down, I stacked my manuscript into one big pile and attempted to stuff it into my laptop bag. I had had no trouble doing this to GET to the cafe, so I’m not sure why all the trouble trying to do it a second time. Anyway, I try to cram it into the bag and it seems like only half the pile is going to fit. Well, that’s not right. I peer into the bag and realize the power cord is all snakey and twisted at the bottom, and is the source of my trouble. I yank it out and toss it on the table – and it lands in a pile of honey that has leaked from packet I used in my tea. "CRAP!" I yell into the quiet cafe (because I still have on my earbuds and am listening to Ruthie Foster loudly. She is fucking fantastic, by the way). Everyone turns to stare. This is when, as I’m attempting for a third time to cram the ream of paper into my bag, half of it falls out sideways, going everywhere.
Probably this happened because I reached out to grab the power cord from its tar pit of honey and I relinquished my grip on the top half of the wily paper pile. Or not. At this point there was no rhyme or reason to any of the shenanigans.
OK. So. Honey all over my power cord. Half a manuscript all over my lap and the booth. And did I forget to mention that I was sitting right by the exit door? On a windy day?
At this point I was my own Saturday Night Live skit.
Eventually, I got the manuscript back into my bag and most of the honey sucked off the power cord (I didn’t have any napkins; they had blown away). I gathered everything up, stood to leave, walked to the door and yanked my keys out of my pocket (always have your keys out before you get to your car, right ladies?).
Well, this is when
3. the contents of said pocket flew into the air, slow-motion-like. A handful of hair barrettes, a couple of pony tail holders, some trash, a receipt.
I could actually hear the 30Rock music bouncing around in my head.
"NERDS!" I yelled, thinking I was being funny and meta. But then I realized you’re not really being meta if no one else knows about your life. I often forget my life is not a TV show.
So I squat down by the door, grab the detritus that is leaking from me as if I am one of those hoses that sprays packing peanuts, avoid eye contact with everyone, and flee to my car.
I feel like maybe I should have at least curtsied before I left. Or asked for people to throw their change at me.
Today I’m staying home. I’m locked in my bedroom, determined to finish my edits, and equally determined to not make an ass out of myself. I think privately making an ass out of myself on a regular basis is what causes me such problems in public. I am desensitized to self-ass-i-tizing. Something needs to be done about that.