A Series of Unfortunate Events

I have admittedly been somewhat less productive this summer than I have been in years past. Since I will be beginning an internship in July, I opted to keep only my two part-time jobs. (I rationalized that no one would want to hire me for a month and a half anyway.) Ergo, I have been working only 10-15 hours a week. As most of my friends seem to know how busy I usually manage to keep myself, a question I've been getting alot lately is, "So what exactly do you do all day? How do you fill your time?" Well, let me tell you, it is not as difficult as one might think. Running around the lake and doing a few sit-ups can become an entire morning's project with minimal effort. Small tasks can become big projects. Unexpected little disasters can take the whole afternoon to remedy.

Since my dear little sister is also not starting her job until next week, we tend to embark on most missions together. We refer to it as "sisterly bonding time." Today we managed to find ourselves in the midst of several "home improvement" projects, much against our will. We are both competent people, but we have little experience in that particular milieu. The trouble began when my sister attempted to turn on the TV this morning. Much to her chagrin, it refused to work. Upon further inspection, absolutely nothing in the entire family room worked. When she attempted to turn on the light, it made a hiss-like electrical sound and began emitting copious amounts of smoke. "Never fear," said I. "I've changed lots of fuses. (Yes, we are the only people in the entire state of MN who have not traded in their fuses for the more modern convenience of circuit-breakers.) I'll be right back." After replacing the fried TL 20 fuse with a new and improved one, I yelled up to her to turn the light on again. I ran upstairs just in time to hear her scream and watch as a firework-like collection of sparks showered the family room floor. Apparently the problem was a bit more serious than a blown fuse. At least I had fixed the TV.

After our failed attempt to fix the electrical problem, we were beginning to get a bit hungry. It was upon opening the refrigerator that we met our next issue. Somehow**, a large jar of pickles had been errantly turned on its side, and pickle juice was EVERYWHERE! Pickle juice in the blueberry box, pickle juice in the cheese, pickle juice pooled in the bottom of the vegetable drawer, pickle juice dripping off the shelves, you get the idea. "Well," said Krista matter-of-factly, "all these oranges will have to be de-pickle-ized!" And depickelize we did. We spent over an hour wiping down the refrigerator and trying to come with ways to absorb the odor of pickles. (Baking soda works nicely!) As we sat there, contorting in odd directions in order that we might reach the back of the fridge, my abductor started spasming from the effort. Luckily, my sister, the athletic trainer, just stood there and stared at me. After the intense pain subsided, we resumed our final round of depicklization. Fortunately, the outcome was not altogether terrible. If I ever smell a pickle again it will be too soon.

**Actually, it was not "somehow." I can tell you exactly how it happened. The pickle jar had been in front of the vanilla yogurt, which I had wanted to include in my breakfast parfait. I had simply moved the pickle jar to upper shelf, and since it was too tall, I had turned it over on its side. What I didn't realize was that whomever had eaten the last pickle had not screwed the lid on tightly. This piece of the blame remains and will remain unsolved.

So that, my friends, is how I fill my time. I manage to cause miniature disasters and then spent hours remedying them. I'm also getting really good at running errands inefficiently. Thankfully, in less than a month I can return to my old efficient, productive, and busy self. But I'll never say that I didn't appreciate the break.