Another Awkward Week: Still Waters Run Deep

OH HI! Does your brain hurt from all the Beyonce/Adele Grammys think pieces you devoured today ...despite not actually watching the Grammys last night?

No?? Um, me either, I worked very hard all day!!

But just in case you do need a bit of a brain break, here is a quick story for your Monday night.

Anyone who spends time with me IRL quickly becomes aware that they are a lucky bitch because I am amazing. 

Ha, just kidding, that's not what I was going to saaay.

Anyone who spends time with me IRL quickly becomes aware that I am obsessed with hydration, to a level bordering on unhinged. I have three glasses of water before I leave the house and usually 8-10 more 16oz bottles by EOD. Every time I pee I check out the scene to monitor the situation and if my urine is not crystal clear by noon I get stressed and slam a few cups of H20 to speed up the process. Once, a year or two ago, I had a UTI, because being a human woman is an EVIL TRAP, and I went to the clinic and peed in the lil cup and the doctor came back and pulled up the test results on the computer and said "I can tell by looking at your results that you are very hydrated," and I blushed and beamed and replied "thank you so much for noticing!" As if she was commenting on my liquid eyeliner application or clean baseboards. 

When I said "bordering on unhinged" I may have meant like, very far beyond unhinged... 

So it should be an obvious no duh by this point that I literally never leave the house without a water bottle. Ever. This means I always have to lug some kind of big bag with me, even if I'm going to like, a club (lol as if) or trendy restaurant (slightly more likely). I would so rather risk a fashion don't than be caught out there dehydrated whilst daintily holding my evening clutch.

A true nightmare scenario.

Why am I telling you all of this TMI about my inner neurosis / urine color? Stay with me. This is alllll helpful background information to have in mind as we *finally* find ourselves at the beginning of my tale.

'Twas a week ago today, around eleven in the AM and I was returning to my office from a doctor's appointment. I was carrying the large leather tote pictured below:

bag of water humor blog I am so bad at naming photos

(Urban Outfitters, under eye circles + empty boxes sold separately).

In said bag, I had packed 3/4 full Nalgene style water bottle branded with my imprint's logo (always be selling!), a hardcover copy of The Warmth of Other Suns by Isabel Wilkerson, and my bullet journal + pack of colored markers (just in case I needed to make an urgent to-do list in the waiting room? IDK guys),  along with some assorted nonsense which shall be discussed later. 

I swiped my card through the turnstile, moseyed (obviously sprinted) to a suitable spot on the platform and stood patiently waiting for my train. I was a little thirsty from all the moseying (sprinting), not to mention that I consider any amount of downtime to be a primo opportunity to re-up on the hydraysh, so I reached into my purse and pulled out my water bottle only to discover it was now...empty. 

I plunged my hand back into my purse and like a kid digging a hole to China via the Jersey Shore, I hit water. I must not have screwed on the lit tightly last time I took a public chug! In a panic I began to pull out my important belongings. My wallet...soaked. My book...soaked. My #bujo...miraculously only a tiny bit damp, praise be to you Beyonce, who so should have won Best Album, everyone knows Lemonade was the greatest album of the year / decade, even people who forgot to watch the Grammys! 

And then, my train came.

I had two options. Option one was to pull out all of my stuff, dump the water onto the tracks, cry about my misfortune, and cause a big ol' scene right there in the 23rd Street 1 Train Station. Or I could choose option two, which was to board the train, hold my sopping books in my arms, and ride the four stops back to my office with two inches of water sloshing around my handbag. And then, you know, pull out all my stuff, dump the water into the sink, cry about my misfortune...and cause a big ol' scene right there in the middle of my office.

I chose option two.

Y'all I boarded the train and I carried the water all the way home.

(That  kind of sounds like a gospel song! Carry the water, children. I carry the water, Oh Lord.)

(Pretty sure those are just the lyrics to Wade in the Water but with a lil remix.)

(Enough parenthetical asides, Liz.)

When I got back to the office I carried my water over to the communal kitchen sink, tipped the bag over, and out poured half a liter of water, as though from a lovely pitcher. I assessed the damage. In addition to the above mentioned book and journal, I pulled out 3 half-full travel sized packs of tissues (all obviously ruined), several handfuls of change (unscathed!), one running sock that had been in there since who even knows when (soaked but salvageable), miscellaneous receipts (destroyed),and the real kicker: two very important referral papers handed to me by the doctor I'd visited just before my ill-fated subway purse drowning situation. One of these papers contains notes from my doctor to a physical therapist who I am to see next Monday for the first time. I need to present this piece of paper to the physical therapist so she knows what my issues are. 

My physical issues, that is. No one needs a paper note to see my mental issues, which will be fully apparent when I hand her a crumpled script that is ripped at one corner and bears the texture of an elementary school homemade paper making project gone awry, having once been soaked and then left to dry on the back of my desk chair. I should just call the original doctor and tell them I need a replacement prescription but I don't want them to think I'm irresponsible. For some reason that seems more embarrassing to me than waltzing into the physical therapists office with a ruined piece of garbage.

Where did I say I was on the unhinged scale again? Maybe we should double it.

Anyway, all's well that ends well, I suppose. My most beloved of possessions, the journal, snuck through generally unscathed with just a few bits of runny ink towards the top of some pages, and after a few days to dry out, my copy of The Warmth of Other Suns now looks rather chic. My assistant saw it sitting on my desk all yellowed, sans dustcover (a tragic casualty, RIP dustcover, I hope you had a great life), and exclaimed "wow, what a cool antique book!" I didn't have the heart to tell her it is not, in fact, an antique, but a relatively new book I ruined. She'll find out I'm a hot mess soon enough, but until that day I'll let her - and the world! - think I'm some kind of intellectual savant whose handbag is overflowing with antique literary works, instead of spilled water, wet socks, and garbage.

The joke is definitely on them! 

And by them, I mean me.

Have a grand week, m'dears. Don't forget to hydrate, hydrate, HYDRATE and also always check your water bottle lids. 

Peace, Love, and Clear Pee -

Liz Hott