A Convergence of Stupid

I’m having one of those weeks. You’re familiar with the concept, I suspect. For me, “one of those weeks” consists of a period of time where three forces convene to make my life not so much hell as just deeply and persistently inconvenient. These are the forces of which I speak:

Bad Luck. Everyone has this, and it comes and goes. If you’re on your toes, you can shuck and jive a little bit and some of the small misfortunes of a given day just slide right off. You anticipate that the next three lights are going to turn red, so you turn right at the first one and take the back way. Some goob in the coffee shop bumps your elbow and your beverage goes careening floorward, but you are lightning-quick and able to rescue it from certain disaster only inches from the tile. These sorts of saves, however, are tough if you are not on your toes, which brings us to the next force.

Erratic Motor Skill Control. I’m a reasonably coordinated guy, but there are periods when various physical abilities go completely and unpredictably out the window. Without reason or warning, my hands drop what they’re holding. The coffee table is still two inches further into the room than I had estimated, and – for the third time in an hour - my shin pays the price. The high-water mark for loss of motor skills (challenged only by the incident listed below) was when I managed to knock over my charcoal grill, spilling a herd of red-hot coals onto my second-story wooden deck. Several blenders-full of water prevented total disaster, but dinner was quite ruined.

Generalized Mental Dysfunction. This includes a wide variety of idiotic behavior. My personal forte is forgetting one of my regular pocketed items (keys, wallet, cell phone, sunglasses, iPod) every time I leave the house. It is, of course, a different item every time, thus preventing compensation by leaving notes for myself. “Did you remember your [everything]?” is a pretty stupid note to have to post on the inside of your own front door. Other manifestations have included locking the keys in my car, frantic searching for sunglasses that are already on my face, phoning someone and forgetting why I called, and the always-reliable leaving the house without wearing pants. Okay, I made that last one up, but it’s not unthinkable.

(After reading the above, you may find yourself lowering your opinion of me. In my defense, these three forces (especially two and three) make only rare appearances, and these stretches of “duh” behavior are, in my experience, pretty common to everyone. Before you dock me respect points, remember that occasionally clutzy and absent minded people who live in glass houses will probably run into the walls a lot.)

I can cope with any one of the above forces, and even a convergence of two is doable, but when all three show up at once, my life becomes a perfect storm of incompetence. I am currently adrift in such a tempest. Consider the following events of the past four days:

1. Left the power cord to my laptop in a different state, thus rendering my laptop a very expensive desk decoration.

2. Apparently forgot that charcoal grill (on which dinner was cooking) was hot. Touched grill. Burned fingers. At least nothing spilled.

3. Got locked out on deck when deck door jammed on closing. Broke doorjamb attempting reentry. Deck door now refuses to close fully.

4. Ordered part for iPod, shipped from Taiwan. Part arrived. Was wrong part. Possibly my fault in ordering, possibly fault of Taiwanese factory worker experiencing his own period of Generalized Mental Dysfunction.

5. Washed and dried clothes at mom’s house. Left clothes there.

6. Reminded myself five times that I need to water my flowers. Still have not watered flowers. Am actually pausing right now to water flowers…spilled water on feet while watering flowers.

7. Needed bananas. Forgot, bought oranges instead. Needed English Muffins. Forgot, bought hot dog buns instead.

8. Repeatedly tried to spell “water” with two t’s.

9. On returning late Sunday night from an indoor soccer game, managed to orchestrate the following series of events while talking on my cell phone, carrying my wallet, keys, indoor soccer schedule and water bottle: Attempted to unlock my apartment door. Dropped schedule. Put water bottle under arm, bent down to pick up schedule. Poured water (from open water bottle) onto schedule while bending over. Dropped water bottle. Picked up schedule. Picked up water bottle. Dropped wallet. Wallet fell through opening in stairs, down to first level of apartment building. Threw keys on floor in frustration. Keys fell through same opening. Descended stairs, collected keys and wallet, returned to apartment door. Attempted to unlock door. Dropped schedule again. Bent to pick up schedule, poured more water (water bottle still open) on schedule. Eventually, somehow, got into my apartment with all possessions.

So you see, life this week is a little bit frustrating. Actually, I have never established exactly how long these stretches last. I’ve always been so blinded by frustration (and, of course, Generalized Mental Dysfunction) that I’ve never paid attention to the duration. I’ll try to remember to make a note of it this time, if I don’t forget to make a note or break my fingers trying to use a pen.

The good news is that just at the point of frustration overload it becomes laughable, and all you can do is sit back and take it. You grin and remind yourself that this Convergence of Stupid affects only the relatively minor things in life. I can live with a damp soccer schedule. Mom’s house is not far. I only paid seven bucks for the iPod part. “This too shall pass” becomes a mantra, which is a pretty good mantra to have when life’s details become a train wreck. I still have my health, job, friends, family, and big-picture mental and emotional stability. Things are pretty damn good. Or at least this is what I try tell myself in the pits of frustration, as I am about to bang my head on the steering wheel of my car, surely triggering the airbag and sending me to the hospital with a sprained neck and fractured dignity. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn’t. Life is a careful balance between appreciating the positive big picture and thrashing about in the brief Convergences of Stupid. I’m trying to thrash less and appreciate more, but sometimes it’s hard to ignore the broken doorjamb, burned fingers, dead computer, and watter all over my feet.

Edvard Munch's reflections on a Convergence of Stupid