Sometimes you start off with a good idea and then, somewhere along the line, SOMEHOW this good idea ends up being the worst thing you could possibly have thunked. Ever.
And now you have to deal with that. The good idea gone bad. This good idea has somehow become the equivalent of making a nice lunch, a sandwich perhaps, and then suddenly thinking that instead of cheese, Shit might be quite a nice filling.
Am I being melodramatic?
Nope. I’m going with this one as it fits right now.
You know how it goes. There’s something in the house that needs fixing. Maybe you see a hole in the plasterboard and think ‘Okay, I’ll sort that out RIGHT NOW.’
You get your tools from the garage, you make the filler up to the right consistency and yet this hole… hmmmm.
You poke at it a bit.
Is it a big job or a small job and… oh great! Now I’ve poked at it and a chunk of plasterboard the size of a 50p piece has just come out.
That’s okay, I’ve got enough filler and I’ll fix this and so I’ll just get all the… hmmmm.
The plasterboard surrounding this all seems a bit loose so if I just press at it then…. oh fuck. Now a piece the size of my hand is starting to loosen and… oh fuck.
Now the hole in the wall is bigger than my hand.
I have done this. Many many times. Which is WHY I’m so good with filler, sandpaper and never far from my Dustbuster. But perhaps I shouldn’t have thought ‘I can fix this’ in the first place.
I have this recurring nightmare and have had since I was a puppy. I’ve had it a lot recently. Which is probably why I’m writing this at 3.45am instead of being asleep because, actually, I’m a bit frightened of going to sleep right now.
I’m in an intensive care unit. Somehow. I’m surrounded by people gravely ill in beds, all being kept alive by machines and because I don’t know WHY I’m there I try to get out. Carefully. Slowly. But doing so I stumble and I catch a cable with my foot, which pulls a plug from a socket and sets off one of the alarms on the machines. I try to fix it. I try to put this socket back in the wall but in my haste I SOMEHOW pull a drip from someone’s arm. I don’t know what to do. Why am I there in the first place? I can’t put a drip back in a patients arms YET I TRY TO and in doing so I set off another alarm and in my panic get my feet caught in another cable which disables another piece of life saving equipment. And so it goes on. I try to fix something and I end up causing more and more damage.
Will I ever learn? The story about the hole in the wall is a true one. I’ve done this. Several times. Same with trying to fix a leaking tap which I somehow end up making worse for about an hour before I do, somehow, eventually, with the aid of PTFE tape and a LOT of luck, fix the sodding thing. By the time it’s fixed I’ve sworn myself into a desiccated husk and I’m soaked because… well. Water’s wet and I probably should’ve turned the stopcock off to do something like this but… heck. I’m an idiot.
I’m an idiot for poking at the plasterboard. I’m an idiot for not thinking this through. I’m an idiot for not thinking that if I do this then that could be the result, and that could be worse than this.
Yet it seems the sensible thing to do. The right thing to do and so if it feels like the right and sensible thing to do then just do it? Right?
Sometimes being a grown up is really tough.
My dream. My recurring dream should inform me.
The thing is, my heart’s in the right place.
It’s just a shame my brain isn’t.
Thanks for reading my brain ooze.