Clutzy McGee

Today marks the exact week anniversary of me living on my own in my quaint little dorm. A milestone, some would say - a need to celebrate my new found freedom! Well, it seems subconsciously, I did just that.

During this week on my own, everything has gone pretty smoothly. I have gotten to my classes without any major catastrophe, done all of my homework, managed to keep my room clean, make myself food, and do my own laundry. All of these are milestones in themselves, I assure you, but the one week came like the one year warranty in cartoons - everything goes to hell. This morning after sleeping in until about 11, I got up, and like I usually do, grabbed for my bathroom tote. It seems that last night, in my sleepiness and grogginess from doing homework, I moved said tote, and replaced it with a half finished cup of ice coffee. In my feeble, blind attempt to get my tote, I succeeded in knocking the cup off my dresser. Opening my eyes slowly, I realized what I had done, mumbled a few choice words, and cleaned it up. After waking up some more, I figured this was lucky, since throughout the week, I have had nothing happen of the sort.

Later, after lunch, I decided that it was nice and cool for once in my room, so I would study on my study bed. after gathering up all of my books and notebooks, I made my way over to it and was unpleasantly surprised. Being close to the door, my other bed had become the drop station for all of the things that were in my hands as I walked in the door. So, I put down my books and began clearing it off. When a teenager cleans something off, chances are, they're not gonna do it right. What better storage unit is there than the floor? As I was doing this, I came to my mouth wash, which, like I everything else, I knocked off my bed in a fell swoop. As soon as my hand came off of it, I knew I was shit out of luck. The top popped off, and it's contents began to pour out onto the carpet square near my sleeping bed. With a quick grab, I managed to get it after not much had spilled, but the damage had already been done. There was a thin sheet of green on my tile floor and stains on my carpet, and worst of all my poor little Jessie-Bear had a green swipe to the back of the head like someone Had shot her execution style with a paintball gun. Horrified, I picked up her fluffy body and ran to a friends rooms, whose laughter could be heard through the hall as I stood in front of her, pouting with my bear in hand.

I ran to the bathroom and doused Jessi-Bear in water, squeezing her until all the minty bubbles stopped. (Which sounds more of an execution than the paintball theory.) After about 20 minutes of wringing her out, she is now camped out in front of my fan, getting a nice fresh air dry.

The good thing to come out of this: at least Jessie-Bear smells good.