What do normal people think about?
I mean, here I am having a conversation with myself about what to write down. Do I write it in pencil or pen? Do I skip straight to the computer? If I do write it in pencil, do I erase or scratch out so if I needed the thought again later I would still have it, right there, all written down for me already? And when writing in long hand instead of typing what kind of paper do I use? Do I even have any lined paper? Yes. Get some from your ten-year-old’s notebook. Don’t tell her you went into her room. Wow, the room is messy. Walk away, walk away.
All this while wondering why I am bothering to search. I have nothing to write anyway. Seems the only time I try to write lately is when everything gets all glued together in a giant jumble just needing to be sorted out. Like a tangle of necklaces at the bottom of the jewelry box. The whole mass of chains, where no matter which strand I start with, I eventually follow the lead to a huge knot, all wrapped and snared with other strands, that I don’t have any clue where it is going.
My thoughts are like that today, and consequently, so is my writing. Forgive me now, and know that I sincerely hope there is a some kind of conclusion to this madness, but sorta doubt it. You are forewarned to stop reading now. Do people really think like this? Damn, we are all doomed.
I have been thinking a lot lately about a man I ran into the other day. I have known him since we were about 8, and we played baseball together growing up. He wrote his phone number on my glove one time back then. Years after, his then-girlfriend saw the phone number on my glove and she hit me. I beat the crap out of her before finding out why she had punched me in the first place. She got suspended for starting a fight, and I used the phone number on the glove to call the boy and tell him his girlfriend was retarded. (Yes, not politically correct, but I was 12, sue me) They stayed a couple about another week if I remember, some junior high record I am sure, before they broke up forever and he and I were allowed to be friends again. We kissed each other once, the Christmas we were both 17. I still remember how it tasted.
If he were to read this blog now, he would know it was him I was thinking and writing about in these wandering thoughts immediately. At least I think he would. Maybe not though, and since he probably will never see it, I could probably get away with admitting that in that tangled hot mess of thoughts have been lots about him. Him dressed. Him naked. Him at the beach, in my bed, flying a plane. It is one of my current favorite thoughts actually.
And while I have been thinking about him in various, um, scenarios, I have also been thinking about remodeling my bathroom. A really awesome orange color on one wall with the rest a crisp white. Sorta retro-modern. Heated stone floors.
But that thought gives way to thoughts about a good friend. Worried about him as work stress (involving having to deal with a suicide) makes for people he barely knows relying on him for more than his fair share. I miss seeing him smile. And my thoughts become angry because I know there is not a damn thing I can do about it.
I think about my kids a lot. My daughter is competing in the spelling bee, thinks her hair is weird, and is concerned she will not make any friends in middle school. It is only 8 months away. She is already counting it down. I worry that she is missing the joy of fifth grade in the process.
Back to the boy for minute. I really liked his moustache and goatee. And the salt and pepper color on his temples. And that he drinks coffee.
My son has been sleeping a bunch. A combo of illness and a growth-spurt that put him in bed at 6:30 last night. I think he is going to be tall. Damn, I think I will have to buy him some more shoes.
Surprisingly, my ex hasn’t been hovering constantly (or much at all actually) in my thoughts. I would think he would get some more air time considering he is about to begin divorce proceedings from his third wife, and un-amazingly they are both blaming me and my kids for their breakup But I am already bored with his drama so the thought usually go away pretty quickly. He got a paragraph, whoo hoo.
Other thoughts in the cue: Sesquesestration is a really long word for meaning I might be without a job for 22 days this year. No work, no pay.
I think I could supplement my income by being a writer. Note to self, start finding freelance work. Second note to self, start submitting manuscripts.
I like the taste of greenish bananas but I hate peeling them. I bet my son could invent something so I wouldn’t have to do that.
Tight jeans look really good on fit 46-year-old men. Especially ones I have had a crush on for 30 plus years.
I really should have typed this to begin with. My hand is cramping. My thoughts are wandering. Did I learn cursive in the fourth grade? I really should take a refresher course.
I just looked up. It is dark outside. Does that happen that fast every day? When was the last time I watched a sunset?
Maybe normal people do think this stuff and I am the only one crazy enough to write it in a public blog. Not much coherent thought today, but I warned you. . Not much coherent thought today, but I warned you. Normal is overrated. You feel more put together now, right? My job is done.
