breaking things

I want to make clear that I never break anything I own.  NEVER.  And this is especially true when it comes to items made of glass.  The last time I broke glass had to have been when I was a little kid, because I certainly cannot recall a more recent memory of such an event happening.

Anyway, since I have been living solo in the apartament-o I have broken two, yes TWO, glass objects within a single week.  Last Saturday I broke a glass cup.  It was awful.  I was so shocked at the fact that I dropped the cup that I could not even move.  It all occurred in slow motion too.  I watched myself as I picked the cup out of the dishwasher and lifted it up into the cupboard--except I didn't place the cup fully on the shelf, just halfway between the shelf and dead air space, and watched it fall onto my granite countertop and shatter fragments that quickly spread in all directions.  There were shards in the sink, on the floor behind the toaster, in the cats' food and water dishes, and, of course, on the countertop.  I was in absolute awe of the different shapes and sizes of the fragments and just how dangerous broken glass really looks.  I was amazed and, honestly, quite frightened.  I was scared to pick up the pieces because I have never handled broken glass.  But I think what surprised me the most was the fact that I dropped the glass and therefore served as the catalyst.  And so I started to work on the larger bits, worked my way down to the smallest bits that I felt comfortable touching, and used the vacuum to finish up the job (which is hopefully safe and OK to do?).  So went my first broken glass experience.

The more recent instance occurred just last night.  I kept tripping over the rug in my living room and realized that it was being slightly elevated by the positioning of one of the end tables near the couch.  For some reason I decided that I had the coordination to lift the corner of the end table and place one of the legs on top of the rug without removing the lamp that sits on the table.  Well, what predictably happened is that while executing my delicate task the lamp fell over; however, no damage came to the lamp.  Instead, the filament in the bulb came unhinged and stopped working.  Logically, I removed the bulb with the intent of replacing it with a new one. Unfortunately, I made another poor decision (which I was conscious of as I did it) and placed the bulb on the edge of the end table instead of in a safer spot, like say on the couch.  While readjusting the lamp the bulb rolls happily (and I believe quite deliberately) off the end table and onto the hardwood floor.  The most delicate little crash I have ever witnessed.  This time I was not as dumbfounded by the situation; however, I was still shocked at the fact that I let this happen, again.  And I know that it was me.  I was in complete control of both situations and just let them happen.  One thing that I have learned quickly since living alone is that everything is MY fault and that it is always MY responsibility to do something.  That has been a hard pill to swallow, because I am quite good at blaming mishaps on others, or at least delegating part of the responsibility for it onto them.  But it is growing on me.  The next time glass breaks I will do exactly what I've done these past two times--pick up the pieces.