Leaks From a Leaky Leaking Leaker

I’m an enemy of President Trump in the sense that I’m one of the many types of people he professes to absolutely loathe (if he new the meaning of that particular word). I’m here to confess that I am indeed a leaky leaking leaker.

I’m like that package of frozen steak you take out of the freezer and set directly on the top shelf of the refrigerator to thaw overnight only to find a large pool of beef juice covering the base of everything on every shelf when you open the fridge door to get half-and-half for your coffee the next morning. Just like the steak, I need to warm up a little before releasing personal information in drips and drabs all over the surface of this here bloggy blog. Eventually, the truth will come out, making a mess and requiring some cleanup.

Unlike those leakers in the government, my information isn’t classified, and won’t land me in prison were I to be discovered. The worst thing that might happen is that more than two humans may read my words, and I think that’s the goal, if I’m being honest (which I almost always am here).

Some people like to drop the cliché “My life is an open book.” but they only leave that book open to the pages containing no sensitive, burn-after-reading content, only the sanitized, safe-for-consumption, nuggets of pyrite, washed clean and polished for all the world to be dazzled by. In contrast, my life is a package of frozen beef.

Spilled Milk

For the most part, my jet lag has improved a lot. On average, I’ve been sleeping more than 6 hours per night, so it came as a big nasty surprise when I managed to spill milk in the community refrigerator a couple of days ago.

Because I’m living in the students’ dorm while the teachers’ dorm is being remodeled, if I want my milk to be cold, I have to keep my milk in the community fridge. Perhaps I wasn’t fully awake at 5:30 AM when I carried my bowl of corn flakes down the 2nd-floor hallway and set it inside the fridge. With the door still open, I unscrewed the cap and then pulled off the tab on the new box of milk. Then I poured milk onto the cereal. Somehow, between the act of capping the milk and setting the box back into the refrigerator door, I  somehow forgot the location of my cereal bowl. I instinctively closed the door, only it didn’t quite close all the way because my bowl was blocking it.

That momentary loss of concentration, that split-second gap in my awareness of what I was doing, caused the milk to slosh out of the bowl onto the shelf of the fridge for me to clean up. Yay.