Why am I making sure to get 1 tsp of cinnamon a day? I can't remember. Clearly not to enhance memory. Calcium, Vitamins D, C and B-12, baby aspirin, niacin- I know most of these, but I can't remember why I snarf the cinnamon. I really can't imagine who's paying for pre-snarfed capsules of the stuff, but there they are, between 5-7 brands of cinnamon tablets available, even at the grocery store, where you can buy real cinnamon, garlic and maybe even an acai berry (though I suspect there is no such thing).
In the land of information overload, it's become impossible to tell if we saw something in a Yahoo pop-up ad, or on CNN. It's also increasingly difficult to tell which of these may be a more reputable source for information. Paid advertising and media-hype has lead to a plethora of what used to be sortable information. If I saw it in Good Housekeeping and it was a recipe, it may have credence, if I saw it in Esquire and it was a recipe, it probably involved whipped cream and nipples as two of the ingredients. What if it was in the Lancet? Reputable publication, but do they know from cream cheese or neufchatel? Yeah, I don't either.
Is Attention Deficit Disorder a measurable neurological dysfunction, or the state of mind one enters when looking up "homes for rent" on the Internet and winding up downloading Mahjongg while simultaneously defragging their computer with a load of whites in? Someone, somewhere is going to say, "So, what did you do today?" and you'd damn well better have a really long answer and some questionably retrieved facts to back up your whereabouts!
Today, I did four loads of laundry, picked up a few things that weren't in the right place and righted them, read a few chapters in a book due to self-imposed deadlines for reading lots of books, defragged my computer 3 times because I wanted to keep doing it after I decided to delete things so it was "fresh", wrote 3 blog articles that people may or may not read, but I consider myself published, (regardless of lack of monetary compensation or fame), drank a pot of coffee, watched what I ate (it's weigh in night), let the dog and cats in and out and threw dog balls (balls for dog, not balls attached to dog) 100 times (dog requirement for peeing), and I feel bad that I haven't put the clean sheets on the bed or gotten out of my pajamas. I haven't showered yet and it's stressing me out. If I shower and dress, then I will feel like I didn't finish this blog. It's an endless circle of how much can I get done today and feel good about myself afterward?
When writing, I like to look up words- the thesaurus being my favorite tool. This also takes time and often leads to looking up other words that I don't need a synonym for, but am suddenly curious about. Then a word will remind me it's someone birthday, so I sign into email to compose a birthday message, but wait, there are 14 new emails... this won't take long, I'll just read them really quickly and then write the birthday email. Oops, one involves cutting and pasting and putting down what color socks I have on where the previous person supplied her answer, but that's fun, right? It'll just take a minute. Ahh, my bank statement is available; I'd better open a new window and make sure there aren't any problems with that. Oh! I have a charge bill from the mail yesterday, I'll go ahead and schedule that payment while I'm in the bank website... and so on and so on and so on. Hours later (and I've long since forgotten to say happy birthday to someone I consider a friend, but who should consider me inconsiderate) I am putting the sheets on the bed, which will remind me that I should set the coffee up for tomorrow. Then I'll feel bad that I haven't done that yet, which makes me feel rushed as no one should feel while still unshowered and jammied. I have done 25 "things" but since they weren't on my mental list, they don't count. Now I'm angry with myself and feel like a procrastinator.
Now, I know that in my case some of this is faulty wiring. I know this because doctors will not let me out of their office without prescription medication to try to calm me down, make me concentrate and quell my desire to call all utility company employees and political candidate volunteers in the middle of the night and ask them to give me some money or change their mind on an issue they feel passionately about. The good news is, on the rare occasion I do answer the phone, I am usually so gracefully (not.) adept at insisting they remove the number from their list, that they generally do not call back. Not because it's illegal to do so, which it is, but because they have now written "Mad Bitch" next to our phone number. Like SPAM, I assume that if I keep doing this, one day I will achieve an uninterrupted state, at least by others. Meanwhile, my mind will continue to think of 60 simultaneous things that I should, could or would be doing if I wasn't doing the current thing, whatever it may be. What's worse, is that whatever I'm doing must be procrastinating because it's not on the list! There are no meds, not even the neat ones with the raised seal of "controlled medicine" I get, that will quell information overload.
So, what to do? Kill the Internet? Would I wind up next to Hinckley because of the six degrees of separation thing? Hinckley shot Regan, Al Gore invented the Internet, therefore anyone who wants to kill the Internet should bunk with Hinckley? Maybe he gets better stuff than I get. We could share.
The question is posed and not answered. How, in this world, with gadgets (Black Berry), programs (Facebook), chores (sheets), jobs (got two), kids (share 3 with other people), pets (don't ask, don't tell- 8?) and sheets on the bed (still balled up in the middle), do we control our thought process and slow ourselves down long enough to be happy for what we've accomplished?
My answer? Retrospective lists. I'm going to write down everything I did today, then cross it off my list. Ahhhhhhhh. I may even nix the Klonopin/Valerian Root/Vodka salad before bedtime. I have achieved the achievable today!
Copyright Suki Eastman 2010
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Alpaca Penis and the Stick
All I'm saying is that when it happens on I Love Lucy, it's funny. In real life, it takes at least a week to say to yourself, "What do Weight Watchers, teen drivers, hospitals, alpaca penises, sticks and Jagermeister have in common?" The answer is Friday.
Aggriterra, WV is known for it's niceness. I can't say it's the Mensa capital but people still write thank you notes and help out one another. There are outliers, as everywhere, but for the most part, these folks are friendly. Knowing this, I wasn't frightened to go to the post office Friday because I knew that they wouldn't yell at me, call me an idiot, or make me regret not having brought the OED to peruse while I waiting to be waited on (large-city flashback). True to form, and even with all those thank you notes in circulation, I was in and out and had a brief and pleasant conversation WITH A POSTAL EMPLOYEE! They are not the nuts you see on the news. Let me dispel that rumor while I continue to try to change public opinion with no funding from outside sources.
Post office done, I went into the bank next door just to thank them for the thank you call they made to show their appreciation because I put a small amount of money in a savings account for a tenant deposit. Big City People- I am not making this up! They called me to say "thank you"!
Off to the gas station- where a conversation about "the new road" took several minutes and included some movie suggestions. This is how they roll out here! Real conversations, that are polite AND thank you notes AND thank you calls! Phone solicitors are genuinely perplexed when I yell "TAKE US OFF YOUR LIST" before they have a chance to sell me an upgrade for a utility or convert me to a republican. This happened during this writing and the solicitor apologized twice for bothering me. Damn skippy. I still think phone solicitation is an invasion of privacy, or at the very least, an annoying interruption.
As usual, I'm off the beaten path, if the path is "an actual subject". I humbly apologize to English teachers everywhere.
It's Friday and I'm at home getting ready to go to training to become a Weight Watchers leader. I am walking out the door when the phone rings. Number one son of Boyfriend has been in a car accident during his driving test with the DMV. Note to all DMV driving testers- kids take things literally, and "make a left" translates in the teen brain to: "If I make a left, I am following the directions. DMV testers are passionate about directions. I'd better follow the directions". Another car was coming when the passionate direction came. Everyone went to the hospital, but luckily, all were released and okay. Even the driver who was hit due to NO FAULT of her own, was nice- I'm telling you, this ain't the big city. No one sued, no files were charged (I'm guessing because the DMV tester (state employee) would have gone down like a bag of bull dogs in shallow water and the police officer (state employee) would have been razzed for taking down a colleague, but whatever. No charges, all good. The car (Mother's) was no longer to be, but she's pretty laid back about material items as most normal mothers would be when seeing their kid strapped to a gurney at several axes.
Relieved, and no longer shaking from the ordeal (that would be me because as a former fire department volunteer there were a lot of scenarios running through my mind as I drove to the hospital), I arrived home with everyone else in other various vehicles to arrive shortly. When what to my wondering eyes do appear, but several alpacas wandering outside of their confined space- vast, but supposedly confined, nonetheless. So, one set of alpacas is seemingly "visiting" the other set of alpacas who remain in their designated (read: confined) area. Logic tells me, open the gate and let them in, so they are ALL RE-CONFINED. Great idea city girl! And they walked right in! Easy peasy!
Three of the alpacas are not "fixed/gelded/castrated/emasculated/eunuchized/neutered/
spayed/sterilized/unmaned" (I LOVE Thesaurus.com) and one is female and with original parts (unfortunately, not sold separately). So, up onto the female goes the alpha 'paca, or the horniest- whatever. And there I stand thinking, "ut oh, this is not going to make Boyfriend happy as we had not planned this parenthood". I promptly look around for ways to prevent this union from being consummated (or finished) and I find a nearby stick. Like any free thinking relatively well educated CITY GIRL (this is important to reiterate as it denotes that I have no idea what I'm doing at this point) would do, I tried waving the stick between the alpaca genitalia known in the electrical world as male and female.
I was waving the stick between the 6 out of 8 involved legs when Boyfriend arrived home and went, to quote Georgia Nicholson (Louise Rennison's awesome young adult series), ballisticissimus. Why had I put them together instead of letting them just roam until he got home? Ummmm, cause a smushed alpaca would cause a traffic problem on the somewhat busy road we live on? Err, cause seeing a 200 lb animal skyrocket across the hood of a Ford pickup truck would be sad? Ahhh, cause they don't just come when you call them? Or, maybe, just maybe, because I'M FROM THE GODDAMN CITY AND WE DON'T HAVE THESE PROBLEMS! Give me a flute, and I'll round you up a bunch of rats, but this? I'm no maven, okay?
Now, remember, I was on my way to learn to be a nice Weight Watchers leader that day. It's like being an Avon Lady, or something else that requires being neat, clean and reasonably sane. I had undone neat, clean and sane in the matter of 2.5 hours. I had managed to call and say I was on the way to the hospital due to kid-in-accident, but I had also said I would show up late barring anything serious and at that point I didn't know what the day was going to bring.
Boy-child fine; me not so much. Now I have started my beautifully polite day and ended it with a trip to the ER and being called an idiot for mismanaging an alpaca coup. Hint, unless you work for the post office in a major city, where I am completely intimidated for some reason, you may not refer to me as an idiot. Idiots are not neurotic and neurotics are not idiots. We are chronic thinkers, and although what we think about is not always considered important to others, it is, indeed, thinking.
On with my day- Screw learning something new, potentially making money, and most of all, trying to return to neat, clean and reasonably sane- it ain't gonna happen. I promptly went to the closest bar, where I make hash marks on the wall when I've been driven to go there due to Boyfriend acting like an ass hat. I had a Jagermeister. This was hash mark number two on that wall. There would be more, but I'm anti-drinking and driving, for obvious reasons (I'm not a state employee and therefore not immune to being charged, and I would feel terrible if I was drunk and hit an errant alpaca or other livestock).
Wandering livestock is more prevalent than you would think unless you're from here, in which case you probably know better than to call 9-1-1 to tell them there is a (live) cow on the road*. So, the long and the short of it is, (there is never a "short of it" with me), there are only 2 hash marks at that particular bar, where they encourage you to write on the walls, making for some interesting reading, but there are other hash marks in my head and I am keeping track.
And that, children, is the story of the alpaca penis and the stick.
*True story- this happened and the 9-1-1 dispatcher said, "Ma'am, can you tell me what the cow looks like?" Suki- "Um. Out of place? Large?" I mean, the cow was brown, or black, or spotted or something- I forget, but seriously, if I say brown and you roll up on a spotted one, there's STILL a problem! This free-range thing has gone too far! My apologies to PETA for the Bull dog, alpaca-Ford and cow references. Another true story- I hit the breaks last week as a mouse crossed the road. Seriously. That's how much I love animals, though Boyfriend and other country folk out here, suggest this behavior of "breaking for animals" will be my demise.
Copyright Suki Eastman 2010
Aggriterra, WV is known for it's niceness. I can't say it's the Mensa capital but people still write thank you notes and help out one another. There are outliers, as everywhere, but for the most part, these folks are friendly. Knowing this, I wasn't frightened to go to the post office Friday because I knew that they wouldn't yell at me, call me an idiot, or make me regret not having brought the OED to peruse while I waiting to be waited on (large-city flashback). True to form, and even with all those thank you notes in circulation, I was in and out and had a brief and pleasant conversation WITH A POSTAL EMPLOYEE! They are not the nuts you see on the news. Let me dispel that rumor while I continue to try to change public opinion with no funding from outside sources.
Post office done, I went into the bank next door just to thank them for the thank you call they made to show their appreciation because I put a small amount of money in a savings account for a tenant deposit. Big City People- I am not making this up! They called me to say "thank you"!
Off to the gas station- where a conversation about "the new road" took several minutes and included some movie suggestions. This is how they roll out here! Real conversations, that are polite AND thank you notes AND thank you calls! Phone solicitors are genuinely perplexed when I yell "TAKE US OFF YOUR LIST" before they have a chance to sell me an upgrade for a utility or convert me to a republican. This happened during this writing and the solicitor apologized twice for bothering me. Damn skippy. I still think phone solicitation is an invasion of privacy, or at the very least, an annoying interruption.
As usual, I'm off the beaten path, if the path is "an actual subject". I humbly apologize to English teachers everywhere.
It's Friday and I'm at home getting ready to go to training to become a Weight Watchers leader. I am walking out the door when the phone rings. Number one son of Boyfriend has been in a car accident during his driving test with the DMV. Note to all DMV driving testers- kids take things literally, and "make a left" translates in the teen brain to: "If I make a left, I am following the directions. DMV testers are passionate about directions. I'd better follow the directions". Another car was coming when the passionate direction came. Everyone went to the hospital, but luckily, all were released and okay. Even the driver who was hit due to NO FAULT of her own, was nice- I'm telling you, this ain't the big city. No one sued, no files were charged (I'm guessing because the DMV tester (state employee) would have gone down like a bag of bull dogs in shallow water and the police officer (state employee) would have been razzed for taking down a colleague, but whatever. No charges, all good. The car (Mother's) was no longer to be, but she's pretty laid back about material items as most normal mothers would be when seeing their kid strapped to a gurney at several axes.
Relieved, and no longer shaking from the ordeal (that would be me because as a former fire department volunteer there were a lot of scenarios running through my mind as I drove to the hospital), I arrived home with everyone else in other various vehicles to arrive shortly. When what to my wondering eyes do appear, but several alpacas wandering outside of their confined space- vast, but supposedly confined, nonetheless. So, one set of alpacas is seemingly "visiting" the other set of alpacas who remain in their designated (read: confined) area. Logic tells me, open the gate and let them in, so they are ALL RE-CONFINED. Great idea city girl! And they walked right in! Easy peasy!
Three of the alpacas are not "fixed/gelded/castrated/emasculated/eunuchized/neutered/
spayed/sterilized/unmaned" (I LOVE Thesaurus.com) and one is female and with original parts (unfortunately, not sold separately). So, up onto the female goes the alpha 'paca, or the horniest- whatever. And there I stand thinking, "ut oh, this is not going to make Boyfriend happy as we had not planned this parenthood". I promptly look around for ways to prevent this union from being consummated (or finished) and I find a nearby stick. Like any free thinking relatively well educated CITY GIRL (this is important to reiterate as it denotes that I have no idea what I'm doing at this point) would do, I tried waving the stick between the alpaca genitalia known in the electrical world as male and female.
I was waving the stick between the 6 out of 8 involved legs when Boyfriend arrived home and went, to quote Georgia Nicholson (Louise Rennison's awesome young adult series), ballisticissimus. Why had I put them together instead of letting them just roam until he got home? Ummmm, cause a smushed alpaca would cause a traffic problem on the somewhat busy road we live on? Err, cause seeing a 200 lb animal skyrocket across the hood of a Ford pickup truck would be sad? Ahhh, cause they don't just come when you call them? Or, maybe, just maybe, because I'M FROM THE GODDAMN CITY AND WE DON'T HAVE THESE PROBLEMS! Give me a flute, and I'll round you up a bunch of rats, but this? I'm no maven, okay?
Now, remember, I was on my way to learn to be a nice Weight Watchers leader that day. It's like being an Avon Lady, or something else that requires being neat, clean and reasonably sane. I had undone neat, clean and sane in the matter of 2.5 hours. I had managed to call and say I was on the way to the hospital due to kid-in-accident, but I had also said I would show up late barring anything serious and at that point I didn't know what the day was going to bring.
Boy-child fine; me not so much. Now I have started my beautifully polite day and ended it with a trip to the ER and being called an idiot for mismanaging an alpaca coup. Hint, unless you work for the post office in a major city, where I am completely intimidated for some reason, you may not refer to me as an idiot. Idiots are not neurotic and neurotics are not idiots. We are chronic thinkers, and although what we think about is not always considered important to others, it is, indeed, thinking.
On with my day- Screw learning something new, potentially making money, and most of all, trying to return to neat, clean and reasonably sane- it ain't gonna happen. I promptly went to the closest bar, where I make hash marks on the wall when I've been driven to go there due to Boyfriend acting like an ass hat. I had a Jagermeister. This was hash mark number two on that wall. There would be more, but I'm anti-drinking and driving, for obvious reasons (I'm not a state employee and therefore not immune to being charged, and I would feel terrible if I was drunk and hit an errant alpaca or other livestock).
Wandering livestock is more prevalent than you would think unless you're from here, in which case you probably know better than to call 9-1-1 to tell them there is a (live) cow on the road*. So, the long and the short of it is, (there is never a "short of it" with me), there are only 2 hash marks at that particular bar, where they encourage you to write on the walls, making for some interesting reading, but there are other hash marks in my head and I am keeping track.
And that, children, is the story of the alpaca penis and the stick.
*True story- this happened and the 9-1-1 dispatcher said, "Ma'am, can you tell me what the cow looks like?" Suki- "Um. Out of place? Large?" I mean, the cow was brown, or black, or spotted or something- I forget, but seriously, if I say brown and you roll up on a spotted one, there's STILL a problem! This free-range thing has gone too far! My apologies to PETA for the Bull dog, alpaca-Ford and cow references. Another true story- I hit the breaks last week as a mouse crossed the road. Seriously. That's how much I love animals, though Boyfriend and other country folk out here, suggest this behavior of "breaking for animals" will be my demise.
Copyright Suki Eastman 2010
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