Really what it all comes down to is the poop in the elevator.
I've been juggling a few different "job titles" for a while: Author. Journalist. Speaker. Coach. Mentor to teens. Volunteer. Wife. Landlord.
All of this constant attempt at keeping up with just one of these roles is kind of making my mind spin. Yesterday, it all came to a head when I was racing out of my early-morning volunteer shift to head back to my apartment building. I called my husband asking if anything happened while I was gone.
"Is there any way to do DNA on dog poop?"
"Ummm. Not sure, why do we need to?"
"There was a huge pile of dog crap in the elevator."
"WHAT?"
"HUGE. Like, Almost-Human-sized Huge."
"Who's dog was it?"
"Not sure."
"Did they clean it up?"
"No, I did," he said.
"Oh no! I'm so sorry!"
"And now I'm wondering if we can track down the dog's DNA. I found one website that can do it if we send in a sample."
"Honey, we have surveillance cameras. I can just look at those."
"We do? Oh good."
"Yeah, so maybe you can just throw the poop away."
Sometimes the juggling just feels like that. Just when I feel like I'm getting a handle on things, there's a big human-sized piece of crap that sends my day in a totally different direction.
Onto checking the cameras. And maybe the DNA.