...you're going to need medication. And probably an endless supply.
I don't know why I do this to myself. Or how I manage to. But lately I have had to come to terms with my horrible, horrible luck. And I'm just going to call it bad luck because if I blame myself, it's just depressing. Because I try so hard. I try so so soooooo hard to not let anything bad happen. I double check everything, make sure I'm doing it all right, and yet.....still fail.
To help you understand, I'll use an analogy: It's as if I triple-knot my tennis shoes and, yes, still trip and fall flat on my face.
This weekend, my friends and I went to Amsterdam. And I was doing really well! I was so proud of myself! We were in London Wednesday through Friday, then flew to Amsterdam on Friday and returned to Oxford on Sunday. I brought everything I was supposed to: clothes, running shoes, homework, copies of my ID and Passport, notes to study for class, enough money, and a very positive attitude.
London went smoothly. I had a great time. I did some exploring on my own, which I love. I figured out the underground system in no time at all and was racing across town to different shops and areas the entire time. I felt so free. And didn't lose anything!
We were almost late for our flight to Amsterdam and while Ashley (as in my twins, Mary-Kate and Ashley) was freaking out, I was surprisingly calm. I just knew we weren't going to miss our flight--there was no doubt in my mind. And we didn't.
All weekend, everything was fun! No mis-haps Friday night (despite the cab driver creepily hitting on me at 4am) and Saturday we awoke to a beautiful, if a little chilly, summer day in Holland. We went to the Anne Frank House and it was really cool and very humbling.
We were near the end of the tour when I was separated from Mary-Kate and Ashley. I had just entered the room that talked about Auschwitz and who in the Secret Annex survived and who died. There was soft music playing as real-life footage of the camps showed on a few screens around the room. There were tears in some people's eyes as they thought about the terrible fate of so many Jewish people. It was serenly silent until.....BOOM BOOM BOOM. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a girl slip on the three metal stairs you walk down upon entering the room. Seeming to have no control over her body whatsoever, she bounced up and down on each of them until she came to the bottom and was sprawled out all over the floor on her back. In the Auschwitz room. In Anne Frank's House. Thinking, "Oh my GOD, how embarrassing! Glad that's not me!" I look over to see if the poor girl is all right.
And it's Ashley. Slowly trying to pick herself up off the floor, she is so embarrassed. Laughing hysterically (silently, of course--we ARE in Anne Frank's House) I help her up. 30 people in front of us and 30 people behind us turn to stare and murmer, "Ouch, that's gotta hurt," "Ohhh man that sucks," "Wow, that's embarrassing," "Whew, glad that's not me," etc. One man even mockingly yells out, "OHHHHHHH!" Thanks, bud, that helps A LOT. She can't look at anyone. Especially me. Tears are coming out of my eyes, not for Anne Frank at the moment, but for Ashley. Because that shit was hilarious.
Throughout the rest of the weekend, we laugh until we cry whenever we think about it. Our mantra for the weekend was, "She BIT IT in Anne Frank's house!" invented by clever Mary-Kate.
Later that day, Ashley broke her toe. It was not her weekend. The weekend before, in Paris, I managed to fall on my face in a bathroom, whack my head on the door to our hotel room, step in a huge pile of donkey poop, and lose my cell phone charger, among other incidents that can't be repeated. Again, I was thinking my poor luck had rubbed off on someone else. WRONG.
Upon returning to Oxford Sunday evening, I immediately brushed off the rest of my homework, reading, and unpacking to watch The Big Bang Theory. I. Was. Exhausted. Amsterdam will do that to you.
Monday morning comes. Can't find my notebook anywhere. Panic-stricken and running late, I grab my keys and a pen, hoping I can bum a few sheets of paper off a classmate. Later, after hours of looking for my notebook, homework, ID and Passport copies, class handouts, information on upcoming finals, I give up and figure I left everything I need for school in Amsterdam. EVERYTHING.
So, no, I didn't have an unlucky weekend. I just managed to screw myself over for the next three weeks.
So, as the English say, "Cheers."
I'll drink to that.
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