To be honest, starting a blog wasn’t something that came to me in a moment of inspiration on a Saturday afternoon in the hot (June?) sun. No. No no. It was brought out of intense frustration and one of those days…or weeks, or months even – where life gets so funny you have to share.
Here’s the story.
I’m part of a community called mosaic, and we had a meeting on Friday nights (Friday night meetings are awesome. I mean really – there’s no good tele on a Friday, and who does anything fun?). Meeting was great, awesome food, good laughs, a glass of wine was also consumed. The meeting finished about 11.30, got a ride to where my car was parked, helped a friend set up for a surprise birthday (not hers, obviously) and left there around 12.30 in my car.
I noticed my car was making this awesome sound, sort of like, the death of a thousand teaspoons; and it wasn’t really driving like a car – well a car with four wheels – should.
I had a flat tire. I should mention here, that I’ve never had a flat tire before in my 9 years of driving. So I was surprised to say the least (I blame the fact that I filled up my wheels with air earlier that day in a bid to save the environment – mother nature is a fickle one). Thankfully Monique gave me a ride home (if it wasn’t for her, I’d be stranded at 12.30am on Newton Street. Not cutie cutie).
So. Ride home. It’s all good. No dramas. Talked to my flatmate jono, went to bed, and, got violently ill. Turns out that the yummy food I had earlier that night was poisoned – with, you guessed it – gluten. And for those of you who know me, you’d know that I am Coeliac (also known as Special, Gluten intolerant, disproportionately wheat challenged or intelligent). 3 hours of sleep, some angry prayers, 3 panadol, a walk, two drinks of water later – it was morning. And then I got an offensive bill from my insurance company (see below).
It made it tough because on Sunday I’m leading a conversation about cravings at mosaic, when, instead of preparing creatively with my supreme wit and sense of style, all I wanted to do was lie on the couch and abuse my flatmates – which, I may have done.
Somedays don’t you wish you could take all the gluten out of your life – speaking metaphorically – those flat tires, the literal gluten, tax, insurance bills, dentists and headlice (primary school teacher here)? They’re the moments that make you a better man, or, drive you to madness.
The day got better with some frivilous spending on kiva.org and smear campaign against the offending stew and a good hard laugh at myself. But what do you do with flat tires and food poisoning? Is there any sense in it all? These questions are far too deep for the first ever post on this blog, so, I’ll digress right about now.
(I was cheeky and sent them 20 cents and said keep the change. Oh my.)
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