Oh my god, do you do things like this? Please tell me you do things like this.
I carry whatever novel I'm reading into the bathroom and end up re-reading something in Cat Fancy I know I've already read eight times.
(I feel the need to explain why we have Cat Fancy magazine in the house. Beyond the obvious, of course. See, my Delta Skymiles were set to expire so in a fit of corporate thuggery that is yet to be believed by the authorities, Delta came to the house in the dead of night, placed a gun to my temple and demanded I order magazine subscriptions from a specific list of choices. So it was either Cat Fancy or Cigar Aficionado.)
I buy soymilk and don't use it. But I have good intentions.
I always forget when I have soap under my thumbnail. That's precisely when I decide to gnaw on it.
I wonder why it is that people think god was watching over them when they survive an accident, but they never wonder why that same god wouldn't prevent the accident in the first place.
I stack things on top of the cabinet where we keep our medicinal items because if I open the cabinet, I'll see the mess inside and then before I can put things away, will be required to sort out the whole cabinet, taking the time to look at expiration dates and categorizing things before putting them back neatly.
I ask aloud to no one in particular why those things are still sitting on top of the cabinet instead of inside it where they belong. I am deeply incensed when no one answers.
I make inappropriate jokes to my children and then wonder why they are so astonishingly sarcastic to me.
I listen to Erik Satie and think that perhaps I should reconsider calm. Often calm also means blue. A well-adjusted person doesn't have a whole Pandora station based on Satie, does she?
I search for meaning in things where I probably shouldn't.
I tell the cats that if they're willing to wear little chapeaus and sit on the chairs rather than on the table, we'll have that little catnip tea party I've been promising them.
I order my children to leave me alone unless they want me to find something for them to do. (This sounds eerily as if I'm throwing my mother's voice. A maternal talent that goes vastly under appreciated and underpaid.)
I don't seize the day as often as I should.
I ask MathMan to find me a beekeeper's suit on ebay so that I can mow without getting stung by those hornets in the ditch. For those of you wondering why I don't look for it myself, please note that MathMan enjoys the hunt. And I'm not going to take that away from him. There remain so few joys in his busy life these days.
I write LOL on people's facebook stuff if I actually LOL.
I sing to every Indigo Girls song on the radio. Even if someone is in the car with me and begging me to stop.
I laugh with my mouth wide open.
I read blogs but never comment.
I look at my geraniums and think they need to be tended, but then I never get out there to do it. (May be related to my need for a beekeeper's suit or not. Could be my inability to follow through on complete thoughts.)
I try to write descriptions of people I see in random places without them noticing that I am actually observing them and then making notes.
I don't get out much.
I long for simpler times that never were.
And you? Let it out. Isn't confession good for something?
|I'll take one. And the suit, too.|
I want to say thank you to Kirie at Three Little Chickies who recently sent me a message telling me to watch my mail. Well, I did watch the mail even after the mail carrier asked me nicely to get back in the house and put some clothes on. Then a box from Kirie arrived. The package inside was wrapped so beautifully, I had to be made to open it. My daughters, as it turns out, can be very persuasive. I still can't believe they held the kitten who isn't exactly a kitten any more over the open flame of the gas stove. Dang.
How cool is this? I'm all set in my endeavor to get fit. And after the next five pounds come off, I'm using the Sephora card to reward myself with something girlie and decadent.
Thank you, Kirie.