What a glorious day, I think to myself. I am skipping and humming as I go about my day as if I am having the best damn day ever in my life. You know, the kind of days where you feel like Snow White singing to all the little fucking birds and bunnies? And then I see it. I turn the corner, and there it is in all its glory, sitting perched on the ledge of the counter, with its last remnants of toilet paper just sitting there lifeless.
It’s like I hear the slasher movie soundtrack in my head at that exact moment, as if some unsuspecting terrorist is coming up behind me. It’s like my head starts to spin like that scary-ass girl in the exorcist. It’s like all the demons that have been suppressed deep down inside me come out and eat all the those fucking little birds and bunnies that I was singing to moments ago.
A switch goes off. I explode! WHO DIDN’T REPLACE THE DAMN TOILET PAPER AGAIN!
To make matters worse, the new roll is sitting right beside the empty roll. Someone was able to get a new roll out of the cupboard, use a few sheets, and line it up nicely as if to say, “Well, hey there mom, wasn’t I proactive as shit!”
The only thing that makes me even more mad, is when I run to the bathroom in one of my post-pregnancy bladder holds shit emergencies, and barely make it to the toilet in time, only to look over and see (cue slasher music again) that damn listless toilet paper roll still attached to the holder, sans paper. Explosion time. Except for this time, I am alone in the house, and there is no one to hear me scream, “CAN SOMEONE BRING ME DOWN SOME DAMN TOILET PAPER”?
I am left bare assed and alone, to attempt a feeble wobbled attempt to make it to the linen closet, pants down at my ankles, swearing the whole time. The words that come out of me resemble a smattering of mumbles, curses, and irritation at trying to figure out who the last person to leave that bathroom was. The reality is, I will never get an answer except “It wasn’t me, Mom”.
I swear, the amount of anger that is triggered in me by an empty toilet paper roll is probably unhealthy, and I should probably seek help for it. However, I realize it doesn’t end there. Because as soon as I replace that damn toilet paper roll, I walk into the kitchen and think to myself how a nice cup of tea with milk would help calm me down. I boil my water, and place my tea bag into steep, and then go to the fridge to grab some milk, and like an eerie shrine to the toilet paper roll, the milk carton is sitting there empty, in all its glory—cue Rage.
Lindsay Consoli is a former paramedic, who saw too much trauma every day, that even the the gallows humour of the medical profession wasn’t enough to save her from the darkness that pooled deep down. After escaping from the abyss, she found a way to cope through writing. She started a blog to document her journey through PTSD, and her chronic illness called Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia, while also sprinkling in a bit of positivity and humour to find ways to cope with being a mom after 40 and how to thrive and survive!
We all need positivity and laughter in our life. Along with knowing we are trying our damn best, and that is enough!
Blog can be found at Palmtreesandpots.ca
Instagram handle is Palmtreesandpots
