I was raised to always follow the rules, to never make a mess, never color outside the lines, never break anything, and always do what I was supposed to. People who know me will probably be surprised when I say that I'm still like that-- it takes a real effort for me to break rules.
I always file my taxes on time, and I don't cheat either (though I've gotten a hair sloppy with small sums as the years go by.). If I'm working on a construction project, it's damned near impossible for me to just throw stuff on the floor or ground and sweep up the whole mess later-- I really want to toss every last bit of detritus into a trash can. I don't rip wrapping paper off of presents-- I open them at the seams, although I've finally gotten past folding up the paper neatly afterward and I can just crumple it up and throw it away.
So tonight I was utterly amazed at myself when I pulled out a knife (the one pictured here, in fact... isn't it cute?) and cut a big gash in my waterbed mattress. It was precisely the right thing to do under the circumstances, and yet it took a couple of minutes to occur to me and doing it felt so very transgressive. It also saved me a good ten minutes of work. But still...
Of course, once I got past the initial cut it turned into a massive slashorama, and my bathtub is full of ribbons of vinyl and little bits of baffle.
Originally posted on patti.vox.com
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