What It's Like Being Extremely Normal

So, I went out to grandpa’s boxcar like storage thing to retrieve some of Makayla’s stuff.  I inspected everything around the boxcar to ensure there wasn’t anything of rattling, poison nature that could possible attack me and after I was satisfied I got to work trying to get the blasted thing open.  Why grandpa couldn’t just buy a box car with a door and door knob is beyond me.  Instead, you have to mess with all these bars, line them up, and try to remember which bars open what.  This process took up about ten minutes of my time.  I finally got the dumb door open and warily lurked into the length of the boxcar.  After fifteen seconds, it occurred to me that it was a total possibility that the door might bang close, locking me into a sweltering oven that would probably end my life in at least twenty minutes.  My grandparents are accustomed to me lurking around the ranch for gosh knows how long and it would never occur to them that I was in the process of getting murdered by heat stroke in a box car.  Locked in a boxcar, yards away from the house, they would be unable to hear my screams for help as my body wilted like a flower until I collapsed in a dramatic and untimely demise.  They would discover me hours later, and I would forever be known as the girl who died in a boxcar.  Not the way I want to go.  So I left, vowing to come back when it wasn’t so hot and with my cell phone.  I struggled some more with the bars, attempting to get it closed.  As I was struggling with the bars, the hugest dirt devil I have ever seen caught my eye from across the field.  In the span of about a second in a half, my mind thought it was a tornado and I thought how awesome it was that we’d be finally getting some rain.  I realized it was a dirt devil and then marveled at the thought that I was more focused on rain than a potential catastrophe.  I watched it until it dissipated which took a while.  I went back to the house and told grandpa about the dirt devil experience.  He did not respond to me but stared at his computer, looking for proof behind a law I had asked him about.  I stared at him for a few seconds with a grin, hoping to be rewarded with a comment that would amuse me but it became clear that I was being ignored so I went to pester my grandma.  I told her about how much the boxcar sucked and she informed me Makayla’s stuff was in her storage building, the one with an actual door and doorknob.  Blast.