Yesterday, I was talking to a friend on the phone. I like to talk on the phone a lot because I normally have lots of stories to tell and those stories normally involve emphasis that I cannot properly convey via text message. I also like to talk on the phone because I can tell stories for hours on end (hahaha wonder why I like writing), and it’s much too exhausting to type stories out.
So we’re chatting about our lives and everything that’s happened. The two of us haven’t talked in a month-ish, so we have a lot to catch up on. I tell story after story after story of things that have happened in my life. Partially because I have lots of stories and partially because I’m egotistical and enjoy the attention. When I finished one particular story, she laughed and said, “Sorry, nothing this interesting ever happens to me.”
And I laughed and told another story.
But then I thought about that a lot. I don’t really do anything interesting anymore. I mostly just go to work, go to church, and go to sleep. That’s it. I don’t think I’ve made it through a single episode on Netflix without falling asleep in weeks. I feel like a 60-year-old woman. But somehow, I still have these ridiculous stories to tell.
You see, I live in a constant state of knowing that something could go wrong at any moment. (My mom legitimately thinks I’m insane because she’s in a constant state of calmness – unless she’s angry, sheesh.) Just this past week, I’ve had three bad things happen (and those are probably just the ones I can remember right now).
Last Tuesday, I called my mom on the way home from work. She was having a full-blown meltdown because she had to bake a blueberry pie for a billionaire, and she’d never made a blueberry pie before. Her and I laughed a lot about how she knows how to make like 17 different kinds of pies, except for the one the billionaire suggested and how expensive those teeny-tiny cartons of blueberries are. It was a great conversation. Until I rear-ended someone.
It was raining, a woman came to a complete stop on the interstate, my brakes locked, and boom – I hit her. I avoided most of the damage and was going super slow by the time I actually hit her, so the damage was minimal and no one was hurt. It really wasn’t that big of a deal. (Except for the fact that I had to deal with insurance all week, get my car fixed, pay the deductible, and drive a Nissan rental, but that’s beside the point.)
I called my mom back afterwards and explained to her what happened and that everything was fine. She was still attempting to bake a blueberry pie, except now she was laughing hysterically. I get in a car accident, and my mother laughs. That is not a typo. She even said, “I shouldn’t be laughing, but my problems just seem a little more glamorous than your’s, don’t you think?”
“Just a tad!” I yelled back as I drove down the road in pouring rain with a single headlight.
My parents weren’t phased at all by the car accident and neither of them were worried. They have both accepted the fact that this is who I am.
Three days later, I tried to get my prescription filled at a new pharmacy since I moved a month ago. They asked me to leave my prescription ID card and to just pick it back up with my prescription. That was fine with me. I didn’t mind at all. I mean, I didn’t mind until I went back to pick up my prescription, and the pharmacy lady informed me that they had lost the card and would need another one. (!!!) Who has two prescription ID cards with them at any given time?! My entire family doesn’t even have two. I was the only one who had one.
So now, here I am, prescription-less. My mom has to order a new prescription ID card just so I can pick up my stickin’ prescription. (No, I’m not sick, so it’s not that big of a deal. But it is my acne medicine, which is a big deal to me.) I’m flying home next Friday, and I will probably be prescription-less until then. Which means my entire face will have broken-out by then. Fun times for Kaelly. (I swear, if anyone mistakes me for one of those scary clowns, I’m gonna lose it.)
TWO DAYS AFTER THAT, I’m getting ready for church on Sunday morning. I was late, as usual, but I wanted to change the laundry before I left the house so that all of my clothes would be dry when I got home. I walked into the laundry room, grabbed the washing machine’s handle, and attempted to open the door. Except it didn’t open. Nope. It snapped right off. The freakin’ laundry machine handle snapped off the freakin’ door. (I should mention that I don’t own this laundry machine.)
I laughed, a lot. Then I sat down and said, out-loud to myself, “Well this is going to make me late for church.”
That’s one week. One week in the life of Kaelly. Sometimes, I’m very happy to be me. My life is wonderful, my job is wonderful, and my friends are wonderful. I love my life – every crazy little bit of it. But sometimes, I really, really wish I was that friend on the other side of the phone who doesn’t have “interesting” (and by “interesting,” I mean crazy, unusual, sometimes-horrifying) things happen every day of their life.
Oh well. Bring on the next week.