It’s been one of those stretches of time where nothing catastrophic happens…

but everything hurts a little, something breaks daily, and the universe keeps clearing its throat like it has notes.

It started with the backyard.

I was cleaning, being productive, pretending I’m the kind of person who flips a hammock without consequences.

When I turned it over, a giant block of ice launched into the air and landed squarely on my head, with a bonus shard to my hand.

Headache for two days.

Hand bruised.

Hammock undefeated.

At no point did the hammock apologize.

Then there was Cornflake.

Cornflake, our cornsnake, escaped. We searched. We waited. We accepted loss like emotionally mature adults. We replaced her with a milk snake named Lola, because children need closure and apparently I now run a reptile sanctuary.

While setting up a humidifier for Lola, Cornflake reappeared.

Alive.

Healthy.

Deeply unbothered.

Which is how I learned that Cornflake and Lola cannot cohabitate, meaning I now own two snakeswith separate housing like a landlord who didn’t read the fine print.

Somewhere in the middle of the reptile reveal, the house required a blood sacrifice.

Justin took off his shirt , a completely normal action and sliced his hand on the edge of his desk.

Then Hailey tried to be helpful.

She scraped ice off the windshield and managed to lock herself and Justin out of the running car.

Important detail: I was not part of this event until I was woken up at 7 a.m. after editing my book until 3:30 a.m., which is a crime the legal system has not yet addressed.

I rose from bed like a woman summoned to solve a problem she did not create.

And because chaos likes to batch its deliveries, six chairs arrived from Wayfair.

All six were broken during their assembly on site. 

To their credit: stellar customer service. Replacements sent quickly. No hoops. Five stars.

Emotionally, though?

I was already sitting on the floor, staring into the middle distance.

Nothing here was dramatic.

No hospital visits.

No disasters.

Just persistent, low-grade nonsense.

Which brings me to:

Unhinged Advice for Surviving a Series of Unfortunate Events

1. Stop asking “What else could happen?”

The universe hears that as a challenge.

2. Assume all furniture is armed.

Hammocks. Desks. Chairs. None of them can be trusted.

3. If a pet goes missing, emotionally prepare for their dramatic return.

Especially if you’ve already replaced them.

They will come back smug.

4. Helpful teenagers are still teenagers.

Love them. Appreciate them. Wake up anyway.

5. Sleep deprivation turns you into the designated adult in every scenario.

This is not a promotion. There is no raise.

6. When life hands you two snakes, don’t ask questions.

Just buy another tank and move on.

7. Survival counts.

You don’t need a lesson.

You don’t need growth.

You don’t need to find meaning.

You just need to make it through without ice hitting your head again.

This wasn’t a crisis week.

It was a paper-cut week except the paper was ice, reptiles, desks, teenagers, and furniture in boxes.

I survived it.

Barely.

But I survived.

And honestly? That’s the win.