First of all, read my column. It was good this week. If I do say so myself.
And I do. Because it is.
Okay. I need to come clean.
I did something stupid. It was a common sense mistake that I shouldn’t have made, as many of my mistakes tend to be.
It was my fault. I try to remind myself, when I’ve really fucked the dog good and proper, of mea culpa.
The phrase “mea culpa” is a Latin phrase that literally means “through my fault.” It’s an admission in Catholic mass that indicates acknowledgement of having made an avoidable mistake that one should not have made. I mean, in a religious context that would be a sin, which implies a sense of willful harm done with the awareness of its abhorrence, even as it’s being done.
Which isn’t the case here. This is just a case of straight up stupidity.
Mea Culpa, though, does not translate to “I am the queen of the morons.” Even though my brain tells me that I am.
It was my fault, but that does not mean I’m incompetent.
I struggle with the sensations of embarrassment and shame. And unfortunately it was not a mistake that I could quietly clean up and not have anyone ever know about.
It left me feeling incompetent, just as a person, in addition to the social anxiety that won’t soon lessen.
I hate it. Everything about embarrassment is highly problematic for me. It was a daily experience in childhood and I’ve managed to find ways to get ahead of it and use humor to deflect it but there are a few just truly asinine moments in my life that I can’t diminish and it sucks.
I have no wisdom to offer. Just saying that it’s a thing I’m dealing with acutely right now. So.
It’s been a really really long Sunday.
I was feeling pretty shitty because I’m sure I’m going to be the subject of many a funny tale told ’round the dinner table tonight. But I committed to getting over it through my drug of choice.
The girls and I sat down for Ferdinand. I loved the book when I was a kid so I was excited for the movie. And it was good.
But as we were nearing about the middle of the final act Harper decided she needed a banana. She ran to get it and then came back with a banana plus one.
As she thrust it in front of me June protested and started grabbing at whatever she was showing me, shouting that Harper wasn’t supposed to be in her room and she’d hidden it because it was “very special to her.”
My kid found a fucking meth pipe in our yard.
And honestly, you guys, I can’t decide whether to laugh or cry.
The contractors are in town. Plus there’s the fact that in the 11 years I’ve lived here I’ve seen at least that many families come and go from the rental behind us. I’m not saying it’s them. But I am saying that I’ve had drunks get their cars stuck in the middle of my yard, I’ve had people walking up and down the alley all night apparently either running deliveries or running defense, I’ve had kids camping out on my porch at night stealing my cigarettes when I smoked and hitting my wifi and my Netflix account. I’ve had some real twitchy eyed freaky people knocking at two a.m. thinking mine was the rental. It’s a weird place.
The owners of the building across from us a few years ago were also renting the apartments above to some tweakers, and windows have been broken, people sitting outside there all night blaring music and kicking each other’s asses in the parking lot.
Cars parking behind me in the alley in front of my house that I don’t recognize and that I never see the owners of.
And I’ve called the cops probably more than I’ve needed to but after Mike’s arrest at a real sensitive time in terms of the trauma from that experience being fresh I had the kids from the rental fucking with me at night. I’m sure the police think I’m crazy. But this is a weird place where I feel like the rental attracts a certain type of folk. I’m not judging, here, to be clear. I’m simply observing out loud.
This whole meth pipe thing? I mean, it’s technically a no harm no foul deal, and it is a funny story, and one that will go down in family history to be sure. And if I hadn’t made the dumbass mistake that resulted in shit getting moved around in the yard today my kids probably wouldn’t have found it at all. But Jesus.
It’s not funny at all. There are no sidewalks running by my house, guys. My backyard is off a dead end street which is off another dead end street with neighbors in all directions. It’s not someplace anyone would ever be unintentionally.
I don’t like getting paranoid. But jeez louise. I don’t need tweakers in my yard. I just do not need it.
I picture Jesse Pinkman just tweaking out in my sandbox and I have to say that even if I found Aaron Paul out there twitching I’d have no choice but to punch him in the weiner for being a douche canoe. And I like Jesse Pinkman. And Aaron Paul!
That sandbox is not for you, asshole. It’s for neighborhood cats to shit in not a place for you to get spun, dick head, whoever you are.
I don’t need my kids finding paraphernalia and thinking it’s treasure. And hiding it from me on top of it! God. My kid had a used meth pipe in her room for over an hour today and I had no idea. Thank God Harper showed me.
I just get more and more tired of humanity as time goes on, you know?
At least my house didn’t look like a tornado went through it when the cops came this time.
Silver linings, bitches.
At this point, I’ll take what I can get.