Burnt Toast & Shattered Glass

I burnt 4 pieces of toast this morning attempting to make breakfast and shattered a glass custard dish of egg. I watched the small glass dish slip out of my hands and slowly drop to the floor as shards of glass flew in the air, almost looking gracefully suspended in time; almost like I could reach out and grab them and save myself the clean up. But I didn’t reach out and try and grab the pieces. My eyes watched them fall to the ground and bounce off the tile and walls until they found their settling places sprawled out all over the kitchen.

There is something utterly defeated by such an act of breaking glass. It makes you feel as incompetent as a five year old and as clumsy as a 95 year old. In the past two weeks I have broke three glass items in my kitchen. Every time I react the same way…a sigh as my chin falls to my chest, a small cry out to God asking him ‘Why?’ and I head to the pantry to find a dustpan and broom.

I continue to feel victimized by these seemingly trivial yet irritatingly repetitive minor infractions that violate my sanity. For once, I would like one blissful day without even the hint of one of God’s many practical jokes exploited at my expense. Just once…