I was bound to fuck up. I mean… I’m responsible, but I make mistakes. I’m watching her three cats, but there’s just some things you don’t know about a person’s life. Like… who knew litter boxes are supposed to be scooped twice daily and “more for multiple cats”? Well, it was cleaned twice this week. Which means that twice this week I shoveled shit. Wasn’t exactly something I’d label a “highlight”. Still, one learns the greatest lessons in the worst moments. Like when I tried to dig into the wet, clumped part and felt my breakfast coming back up. I need a break, I told myself & put the pretty little poo paddle back in its place. I took care of the dishes and came back to finish the task on round 2. Sometimes, you need time to… digest. I did everything else, though. The cats are still alive, at least. (Fuck where are they?) It’s everything but that cats the worries me. I had friends over –nothing bad– but after they left I noticed a scratch on one of the shelves, but I swear nothing fell (I’d have heard it) so I’m going to sit back and assume the shit was there when I got here. That’s my story. If she brings it up, she brings it up, I’ll tell the truth. I don’t know anything about it. The shit was there when I got here. If she doesn’t. They, hey. I’m off. That’s not the only thing though. 

My homeboy, Ozzy.

       I typically fuck up in twos: 1. I bleached her duvet cover. It looks terrible. There’s… nothing I can do to save it. 2. I was a woman in her bed. I’ve bleached, Shouted, Cometed and Ajaxed the hell out of this damned thing to no avail. Now, the shit is discolored and… tie-dye. That is, except for the part that’s blue because I’m waiting for this detergent to sink in. We’re going for another wash in the morning. After this week, I officially believe to be a woman is a constant harassment by some sick, pransker god. Honestly, there’s really no need for this. Why do I bleed? Like… really, God? Really? So here I am, on pay day, about to spend all my little dollars on sheets 😦 sigh. Not what I had planned. This is where money goes: to the unexpected faux pas’ and fuck ups. Yet, that’s no reason to live in fear. The sign above her dresser, directly in front of the bed, says, “relax”. So that’s what I’m going to do. Everything in me wants to stress out. I want to tense up and try to figure out a way to figure this all out. Fast. What I’ve learned over the past couple of months, thought, is that bugging out about things doesn’t get them done any faster. Things are going to happen at the rate in which they happen. Sometimes, it’s true. You have no control over what will happen next. What you need to do is calm down. Relax. Prepare yourself for the next obstacle. Keep your eyes open. Move slowly and with patience. I’m sure this will all work itself out if I think calmly and clearly. There’s nothing worse than trying to function through stress. That’s when you fuck up the karma of the entire world. You get tense. Irritated. Aggravated. Before you know it, you’re yelling at everyone around you. Everything pisses you off. You can’t get anything done because this issue is on your mind. Sound familiar?

     Stop worrying. Things figure themselves if you simply have faith that they will. There is no reason to over-extend yourself. No need for me to either. So when the lovely couple gets back tomorrow, their house will be in tip-top shape expect for a couple of things. But, really, that’s what happens when you have an inexperienced girl trying to maintain a woman’s household. They knew. I’m learning. Today, I learned that you shouldn’t bleach cream duvets. So.. just don’t bleach anything that doesn’t belong to you. And nothing gets woman-ness out of sheets. So… pad up when in a strangers bed (smh). This applies to everything, though. I believe that as a people, we’re too worried. Especially women. Everything worries us. While we are built to carry the world on our shoulders, we have to understand that it’s okay to take a rest. It’s okay to sit the load to the side and stop for a drink of water when you’ve reached the a stream. You have needs, too. You need to live for you, too. You’re human, too. And mistakes will be made. As perfect as I claim to be, I fuck up quite often. I’m not upset at it, it’s simply a side-effect of humanity and I can’t change it no matter how hard I try. I wish I were a God. Then, I wouldn’t have to deal with these imperfections. Fuckin’ Eve. We were almost set for life. 
      I’m accepting my humanity. I fucked up. Twice. *shrugs* At the end of the day, it’s just a cover. And luckily, I know that she’s the type of person who will think the same. If she wasn’t, I wouldn’t have agreed to stay here and she wouldn’t have asked me. She knows I was just recently a kid and that, like I said, people fuck up. Myself included. It’s not okay that I damaged her belongings, but I’ll buy her a new set (or try to). Things are replaceable. The cats are still alive. That’s the real point of me being here, right? 
FML. lol.