Make it Count

One of the first things I noticed this morning was the smudges on my dresser mirror, because they had somehow fashioned themselves into an honest-to-goodness Tatooine Jawa – glowing eyes included. I know this because my sister was a nerd in the mid-90’s and didn’t know it. Before a nerd was a nerd. What is more curious to me, though, is how Puck managed to reach that high with a passel of unwashed fingers to create this unintentional masterpiece.

So after kicking things off right with some mournful Spanish guitar, I got a look into the current medal count and employed the remaining household of four living beings in the current obstacles of the day after removing Puck from the mahjong case.

“I’m sorry, Mama. But this doesn’t look like a very good lunch…”
“Why’s that?”
“It looks like a Viking lunch.”
“How?”
“Well… the carrots have spots on them, so they don’t look a little familiar… And the milk is a little high… and the cup is a littler stiff…”

Sometime shortly after three o’clock, word on the street was that Michael Phelps had crowned himself the most decorated Olympian of all time with another gold cake plate. Right as Donkey came flying onto my laptop just taking a hit from the spinning ceiling fan. “Puck!” “He’s just getting his energy out, Mom!” When he tried to sneak into the broiler, though, I put my foot down.

Puck later slammed out some modern tunes on the piano following dinner.
“That means hopeless,” he explained artistically after one particular dramatic pounding. “Like.. hope is near.” “I like your composition,” I complimented him some time later. “Thanks. It means a ghost land has taken over the entire world!”

Thought of the Day

I think too much.
I really do.
It makes me spacey. I can be so intent employing a fictitious conversation between myself and the one-time princess of the Sandwich Islands while I’m washing the dishes, that I really won’t hear anything you’re saying to me at all.
I realize that this may shock some people. I have to confess though that, yes, I did (and do still) take pride in never-being-late-for-anything trophies, 4.0-GPA blue ribbons, and responsible-child-of-the-year gold medals, etc. Yet one more vice to toss on Vice Everest. But they do always say, “Never trust the quiet ones.” In fact, it’s almost a little embarrassing, though I disguise it pretty well, I admit. I try really hard, though. Especially in public, because I know it’s just not acceptable. I also know that this sort of don’t-bother-me-right-now-I-just-floated-past-Pluto runs in the family a little bit. Whether it’s because of Differential Equations or a cute guy at the youth retreat… we distribute our share of absent minds to the company skirting our outer rings.
But the thing is — how can you really stop that kind of intense thinking so easily?
I’ll be so deep into a thought — past ring seven hundred two of the ancient Bristle Cone Pine of concentration and digging for more — that you might tell me the Olympics are on, and I wouldn’t hear you. I really have to shut my brain down. Tell it to stop thinking.
“Save that bit for tonight when you’re falling asleep,” I’ll tell myself. “Work that one out later. Save the best for last. Don’t unwrap all the treasures in one sitting…”
Blah, blah.
Like one of those super fancy boxes of chocolates from Bissinger’s down by Forest Park. Apple ghost chili truffles or some other impossible combination of exotic things I’ve never heard of. One piece at a time. Or one slice at a time, like I used to quarter those cocoa-y beasts in high school.
But sometimes I can’t wait that long, so I’ll employ a lengthy — sometimes unnecessary — car ride, or I’ll get up later in the morning, even though I’ve been awake for the past hour.
Welcome to my brain.