Yesterday I sat down, gave myself a little pep talk, and did a Really Hard And Scary Thing. Upon completion of The Thing I had butterflies in my stomach and spent 30 minutes rage-cleaning* my house to try and burn off some of that frenetic energy. It’s a waiting game now and I hate waiting, hence the rage-cleaning. (*Rage-cleaning is a manic maid state I get in most often when I’m pissed, but, apparently, also when I’m anxious and also when waiting for results after completing a Really Hard And Scary Thing.)
After the cleaning session I took myself on a little walk, the night was cold and the stars were clear and I was feeling pretty darn proud of myself. Very adult-like. Responsible. Have my shit together. Etc.
And then I picked up a cactus.
Ok, that’s not exactly true (it is totally and 100% true), I mean, I was walking along and I saw this really beautiful dried paddle of a prickly pear, you know, those tear-shaped “leaves” with cute little white polka dots on them? Well, this one had fallen off it’s momma plant and was all yellowy-cream and dried, the ridges looking a lot like the back of an octogenarian’s hand. The polka dots were a soft dark brown and the whole thing was arrestingly beautiful in gorgeous sepia tones with an almost quilted-looking pattern. I had to have it.
So I picked it up.
…Ya’ll, I must be some kind of serious Arizona rookie, because I PICKED UP A CACTUS WITH MY BARE HAND!
Those soft dark brown spots were, shockingly, not soft at all. They were actually strategically placed little defensive forests of bristley brown spikes that quickly transferred themselves from the prickly pear paddle to the fingers of my left hand. I yelped. I maybe cursed a bit. And, momentarily losing my sanity and thinking a game of Hot Potato was in order, I tossed the spike-infested prickly pear paddle to my other hand.
I’mma stop right there and slow it down:
I picked up a spiky cactus because it was so so pretty. And when I was legitimately surprised at the immediately pain of said spiky cactus, I THREW THE THING STRAIGHT INTO MY OTHER PALM!
Yep. That happened.
Almost 10:00 pm and I’m swearing up a storm on the sidewalk, clutching a (gorgeous!) cactus in one hand and shaking my other hand furiously, somehow thinking that cactus spike pain was like being burned, you just blow on it and it will stop hurting. Ha. Hahahahahaa. Nope. Not the case.
Mr. Blue Eyes and I spent 45 minutes tweezing cactus spikes out of BOTH of my hands. Any sense of greatness I felt for accomplishing that Really Hard And Scary Thing? Yeeeeah, totally gone. I’m sure there is a really poignant metaphor in this story somewhere (“Pride goeth before the fall”, anyone?), but to be completely frank, typing is giving me the distinct impression that I’ve missed a few cactus spikes in the pads of my fingers that will need some additional tweezing, stat. That’s also probably a metaphor.