So, the other night I found myself in a familiar position: Windex-ing my bathroom mirror while getting ready for a date.
(Note: This was not because I planned on having the guy over to my place – we were, in fact, actually meeting in his town. I just enjoy having a streak-free shine on my bathroom mirror at all possible times. Plus, as any of my ex-roommates can attest, I have this problem where my bathroom mirror always gets inexplicably filthy for no reason.)
(Or maybe it’s less “for no reason” and more because I brush my teeth like a coked-out toddler, but whatever.)
(…are coked-out toddlers a thing? I really hope not.)
Anyway. As I waxed-on-waxed-off the reflective surface with a fresh Windex wipe, something (and I have no clue what, which clearly goes to show how important it was) startled me – causing me to abruptly jerk my hand toward myself. Then, in the midst of the hand-jerk, my finger got stuck on an innocent-looking-but-actually-very-dangerous corner of the mirror… AND IT WAS SLICED OPEN. (Or just slightly cut, but still.)
Frazzled, I instantly put the bleeding finger in my mouth for some nurturing self-licking…
…only to find that THE WINDEX WIPE WAS STILL IN MY HAND!
And so before I knew what I was doing, I licked it. I licked the Windex.
I licked. The fucking. Windex, y’all.
After my life quickly flashed before my eyes (mostly a montage of Mariah Carey, football, cheesecake, and sandwiches… oh, and friends and family), I suddenly went into survival mode and started scrubbing my tongue and rinsing my mouth (with water, Listerine, and – inadvertently – tears) and spitting vigorously into my sink while internally repeating the Sanskrit mantra Om Namah Shivayah (“I honor the divinity that resides within me”… I know this thanks to years of earnest Hindu study Eat, Pray, Love) to myself until I finally felt like a human again.
Then I looked down at my cut finger and saw that it wasn’t even really bleeding, which led me to remember how a phlebotomist recently accused my blood of not flowing, and so then I proceeded to fall into an emotional spiral of panic about how I must be dead inside. (Or something.)
But then I closed my eyes and gave myself a few more meditation/affirmation/breathing minutes – my new this-time-in-English affirmation being, My body restores itself to its natural state of perfect health.
(It should be noted that I was going to go with something more like, My blood flows like a fucking river, but then I thought it might be too specific – because what if the lack of blood-flow was the result of a greater health issue? And so I figured that My body restores itself to its natural state of perfect health was a much better catch-all blanket affirmation, as opposed to the original, which would have probably just been the blood-flow affirmation version of a Band-Aid.)
And it totally worked! After a few minutes, I felt calmer and more relaxed, and I even started to bleed a little, which, in this case, was totally a win.
And so then I put an actual Band-Aid on my finger, and the whole thing ended up being a bit more anticlimactic than it would have been if I had never snapped myself out of my HOLY-SHIT-I’m-DYING spiral in the first place. Which, actually? Was a refreshing change of pace. I think maybe I’m going to try “not flipping out over small things” more often now.
(Although on second thought, is ingesting Windex really a “small thing”? OMG no, it’s huge. I totally underreacted.)