Breaking Things

Yesterday I wrote about fixing things, but lately I’ve been doing my share of breaking things.


A few nights back I brushed my teeth, rinsed out my mouth and when I washed out the glass I used to get water from the sink the glass fell from my hand and shattered against the hard floor.

A few mornings back I took a long hot shower and when I opened the utility window in the bathroom to clear out the steam the plastic latch on the right side of the window cracked off and came away in my hand.

Monday morning after I took my jacket to the dry cleaners I went to the neighborhood grocery store and walking past the very first aisle I brushed against a pickle jar, knocked it from the shelf and watched it tumble down against the hard floor and shatter—an explosion of pickles, glass and pickle juice all over the place.

Just a few days ago I broke breakfast. I was making hard boiled eggs and fresh vegetables—I just put a couple of cups of water into a big pot, bring the water to a boil, add the eggs and chopped veggies and let it cook for twenty minutes. Pretty simple. But after I put everything in the boiling water I decided to re-install the printer software on my computer. Somehow I lost track of time. As I was finishing with the computer, I smelled something awful. Then I remembered there was water boiling in the kitchen. Well, there used to be water boiling in the kitchen. Because while I worked at the computer the water had completely boiled away and the veggies and eggs had burned up against the bottom of the pot.


Now, none of these events caused a lot of trouble. I picked up the broken pieces of my tooth-brushing glass. The broken window fitting could be unscrewed and replaced. The stock boys cleaned up the pickle mess. My big breakfast pot is non-stick and the burned up eggs and veggies just scrapped off.


But I wonder and worry about this kind of thing.


Just yesterday I quoted Michael Crichton saying that behavior is not random, behavior can be evaluated from the standpoint of purpose, even if the purpose is unacknowledged.


Is my sub-conscious trying to tell me something?!


Do I have some kind of inner rage that’s bubbling to the surface, manifesting itself by these “inadvertent” mishaps?

Do I have some kind of inner contempt for my life right now, manifesting itself by this wreckage? Is this my inner self telling me to get out of here and go to Los Angeles or San Diego or something?

Or is this mental stuff just random speculation and is there a physical issue involved—am I coming down with a cold or the flu or something and is my body just getting a little disconnected from my mind?


This kind of stuff worries me. Some aspects of my life are kind of fragile. They won’t stand up to me flailing around making a mess of things. Making more of a mess of things.


I’ve broken my peace of mind.


And my peace of mind was kind of glued up, taped together and held in place by rubber bands to begin with.