Wise men say only fools rush in. Nowhere is this more true than when crossing the threshhold into our lovely apartment in Gumpen Village Street. That is because of the daily door doo doo.
What is a daily door doo doo?
This is a daily door doo doo:
THIS:
I understand that all misplaced cat turds are inconvenient. Some are aggravating. But a daily door doo doo will you drive you to despair.
I bet YOU like getting home. I used to like getting home.
When a person arrives at their front door after a long day at work...
Or when a person arrives at their front door after an awesome, life-giving day in the sunshine...
Or when a person arrives at their front door sweating inside their winter coat with 25 kg of groceries cutting into their fingers and two crying children (The fingers are deep purple and have lost all circulation because it has literally taken 20 minutes to go up two flights of steps, and the reason it took 20 minutes is because the three year-old keeps crying and sitting down, and the reason the child is crying is because you will not carry her, not even if her shoes feel funny and her knee hurts and she is so very tired, and you will especially not carry her because you are lugging enough f***ing milk to bathe Cleopatra (cow! skim! almond! rice!), and now all of this arguing and starting and stopping and sweating inside coats has caused your formerly sanguine five year old to also sit down on the steps and cry, and both kids' mother is just about ready to sit down and cry too but she doesn't because that would be the beginning of the end of all things)...
No matter in what condition you arrive at your front door, what you want is to come home. To throw open the door, toss off your shoes, and flop onto the nearest upholstered surface.
The act of coming through your own front door is SUPPOSED to unleash a little prickle of heart joy. The smell of candles and cookies and your own laundry detergent. Warmth. Your people, your things. An invitation to hang up your sorrows along with your hat.
Daily door doo doo is why you cannot have that.
What you can have instead is a rainbow shit smear that smells like what it is, and that is too sticky to be removed by paper towels alone. What you can do is tiptoe and lift your whining children over it, and undress them hastily in a deeply funky cloud of cat dung. While they scamper off, you can storm around gathering paper towels and Windex, and spend the first few moments of your arrival at home cussing and scraping up poop, and then trying to get a fine mache of poop and paper out from under your fingernails. And the next time you leave the apartment, you get to do it all again!
This is only my second blog post in a while. I should end on a positive note. Negativity is super alienating.
So: It's not all bad!
Like, the way the poop smears can really teach us a lot about how circles work.
Secondly, understanding Schrödinger, but with the poop instead of the cats! Is there a doo doo? Isn't there? Perfect ambiguity, until you open the door. Thanks, cats!
Thirdly, it's not EVERY time you open the front door. It's like 70% of the time. And today I left the apartment late enough to catch a daily doorway doo doo on the inside (that's what inspired this post...I'll take what I can get), so there's only like a 25% chance that the next person to come home will face the rancid rainbow. Grace is real, guys.
And lastly, doo doo teaches us not to take the joy of home-coming for granted. Ain't nothing in life comes free. And believe me, once you've finished cleaning up the daily door doo doo and its consequences, and possibly given the cat a harder-than-necessary prod with your toe, and apologized to your very strict five year old for having dropped an f-bomb or two, you will flop onto that couch knowing that you absolutely deserve to be there.
What is a daily door doo doo?
This is a daily door doo doo:
THIS:
I understand that all misplaced cat turds are inconvenient. Some are aggravating. But a daily door doo doo will you drive you to despair.
I bet YOU like getting home. I used to like getting home.
When a person arrives at their front door after a long day at work...
Or when a person arrives at their front door after an awesome, life-giving day in the sunshine...
Or when a person arrives at their front door sweating inside their winter coat with 25 kg of groceries cutting into their fingers and two crying children (The fingers are deep purple and have lost all circulation because it has literally taken 20 minutes to go up two flights of steps, and the reason it took 20 minutes is because the three year-old keeps crying and sitting down, and the reason the child is crying is because you will not carry her, not even if her shoes feel funny and her knee hurts and she is so very tired, and you will especially not carry her because you are lugging enough f***ing milk to bathe Cleopatra (cow! skim! almond! rice!), and now all of this arguing and starting and stopping and sweating inside coats has caused your formerly sanguine five year old to also sit down on the steps and cry, and both kids' mother is just about ready to sit down and cry too but she doesn't because that would be the beginning of the end of all things)...
No matter in what condition you arrive at your front door, what you want is to come home. To throw open the door, toss off your shoes, and flop onto the nearest upholstered surface.
The act of coming through your own front door is SUPPOSED to unleash a little prickle of heart joy. The smell of candles and cookies and your own laundry detergent. Warmth. Your people, your things. An invitation to hang up your sorrows along with your hat.
Daily door doo doo is why you cannot have that.
What you can have instead is a rainbow shit smear that smells like what it is, and that is too sticky to be removed by paper towels alone. What you can do is tiptoe and lift your whining children over it, and undress them hastily in a deeply funky cloud of cat dung. While they scamper off, you can storm around gathering paper towels and Windex, and spend the first few moments of your arrival at home cussing and scraping up poop, and then trying to get a fine mache of poop and paper out from under your fingernails. And the next time you leave the apartment, you get to do it all again!
 |
| F*** YOU |
This is only my second blog post in a while. I should end on a positive note. Negativity is super alienating.
So: It's not all bad!
Like, the way the poop smears can really teach us a lot about how circles work.
Secondly, understanding Schrödinger, but with the poop instead of the cats! Is there a doo doo? Isn't there? Perfect ambiguity, until you open the door. Thanks, cats!
Thirdly, it's not EVERY time you open the front door. It's like 70% of the time. And today I left the apartment late enough to catch a daily doorway doo doo on the inside (that's what inspired this post...I'll take what I can get), so there's only like a 25% chance that the next person to come home will face the rancid rainbow. Grace is real, guys.
And lastly, doo doo teaches us not to take the joy of home-coming for granted. Ain't nothing in life comes free. And believe me, once you've finished cleaning up the daily door doo doo and its consequences, and possibly given the cat a harder-than-necessary prod with your toe, and apologized to your very strict five year old for having dropped an f-bomb or two, you will flop onto that couch knowing that you absolutely deserve to be there.
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