Sunday Whinger: Synchronicity

One Sunday more, the Whinger comes to whine a bit.

Because… do you know what is synchronicity? The definition says it´s an apparently meaningful coincidence in time of two or more similar or identical events that are causally unrelated. But I think it´s better defined as those stupid events that piss you off, one after another, to the point of wanting to stop the world and step out.

This is the week for me: winter has come suddenly (snow, stormy winds, ice on the road…), my car is on summer tires (so I can´t drive), I parked it in the garage because of the weather, I didn´t want a frozen motor but… one door didn´t lock well and now… battery is dead! Battery.is. DEAD!!!

And my fucking glasses… broke! They BROKE!!!

I… I just went to the bathroom to get my contact lenses. I breathed deeeeeeply, and headed upstairs thinking «Thank God I bought contact lenses this summer, when I went to Akureyri». But when I reached the bathroom, and looked for the lenses… they are gone. GONE!

Why? Why? WHY??????

I want this week to eeeeeeeend…

I am so tired. And I have to do a lot of things, and now I cannot drive, and I have to check the car battery, and I was going to start the home delivery to run the pet shop again, and I can’t, and I don’t know how I am going to do it, and I want to break something and I can’t and…

Breath. Breath. Breath.

I am writing this on Tuesday. Because this is a Sunday Whinger, but I can´t wait until Sunday or I will explode, and there will be a lot of blood, and innards, and brain pieces everywhere… and blood stains are so difficult to get rid off that I would be another week more just cleaning the mess. Without my brain (that would have exploded), like, cleaning in a zombie way. It looks difficult already.

But maybe, hopefully, when you read the post this Sunday, all this will be gone. And the Sunday Whinger will look at herself and say «Oh, for Christ´s sake, could you stop whining?» and slap herself, a small slap meaning you should be more patient and breath deeply like 20 hours a day to avoid these grudges of you.

But then… who would you do without your Sunday Whinger?

Sjáumst, humanies.


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