L.I.F.E.

Today, I woke up and had a familiar thought: "Do I really have to get dressed, again? I just got dressed yesterday! And the day before that!" Does this happen to anyone else? Do you think, as I do, that finding clothes to wear every day is kind of monotonous and awful?

(FYI: I am grateful to be able to have a variety of clothes to choose from. That's lucky, and I know it. But this isn't a gratitude blog, it's a slog.)

(We miss you Brittany Murphy)

Remember Cher from Clueless, and how much fun she had putting together matching ensembles? Well, that is not real life! In real life, if you're me (and last time I checked, I am) you're so bored with the task of clothing yourself that you just keep a pile on the floor, and pick from it willy-nilly, looking for what's not too wrinkled, or too visibly stained. In real life, we also don't have our closets computerized, nor do we think thigh-highs are acceptable to wear to high school. At all. Right?

The trouble is, when you start out a day feeling overwhelmed by the mundane task of putting on clothes, the rest of your day is probably not going to go well, either, because you've got a bad attitude. And by you, I mean me. I had a bad attitude.

To wit: I put on clothes; I called someone who wants to rent my apartment; I called my landlord to tell him about aforementioned person; I told the landlord about the TERRIBLE things happening in my shower (whenever I run my sink, black gunk spews out of the shower drain. I probably won't mention that to the potential new tenant); I made an appointment at H&R Block to see Captain Kelly (more on that later); I closed my index finger in a bathroom stall at the gym--which is forcing me to type without using it, and it is taking at least twice as long as usual.

Now, Captain Kelly is a tugboat captain, as well as a renowned Moscow Taxman. I saw him last year, and during the course of our two hours (at least), he asked me some very personal questions (why am I still single? do I want to have kids? if I do, I best not wait until it's too late, he knows too many women who regretted waiting, etc.). He told me a bit about tugboats, and about how he got really into grunge music while living in Seattle. He was in a book, even, talking about the best jukeboxes in Seattle.

So, when I brought my bruised index finger into H&R, I was sure that at least I'd get some good stories out of Captain Kelly. But...I think he was having an off day, too. I got only one story (he once dated a woman who said "bunchels of [insert noun]" instead of "bunches." That was a long time ago, but she was a really neat lady), and even worse--I could tell he was frustrated at me for forgetting one of my W2s. I know he was frustrated because he kept saying, "I'm going to take care of you like you were my own daughter, just like you were my own daughter." But, he wasn't saying it to assure me, he was saying it to steady himself. Like, "if you were some stranger, I'd really let you have it and kick you out of here, but I'm not. I'm going to keep dealing with you, like I would have to if you were my own daughter."

So, I left Captain Kelly to finish my taxes (we ran out of time, on account of me leaving to track down a W2), and my awesome day continued with laundry, recycling, running the sink so that the plumber will see the putrid stuff that comes up the shower drain, and then I got in my car. This is the part I've been trying to get to all along (you say: then, by god, get to it ALREADY):

A Justin Townes Earle song was playing, here it is if you fancy a listen:

Isn't it something how a day, and a life, can contain such mundane junk: plumbing problems, missing W2s, loads of recycling and laundry, busted fingers, as well as containing art? Art just kind of popped up right in the middle of all of it, and I relaxed, and my bad mood lifted, because people are out there, making things that are meaningful and beautiful and meant to be appreciated by sloggers like me. And then I thought to myself, Hey, I might just get dressed again tomorrow.

Nine-fingered but powering through,

Kendall