One that I regret making?
I regret nothing.
….I would make it illegal for Plinky to keep rehashing and rewording and re-asking the same questions…..I couldn’t take this one seriously the first time around, and not too much has changed……
If I were president, I would be deeply concerned about how people would refer to my husband. “First Lady” would need some serious revision, and First Gentleman sounds a bit too flippant and jaunty for such an important position.
“First Man” is pretty much carved in stone for Adam or whatever the name of the first homo sapien may have been. First anything seems entirely too presumptuous.
I’m leaning towards “Good Lord” I think. I would have my own name legally changed to Gurbanguly Berdimuhamedow just to confuse a few Turks, and once the tv announcers had rolled that one off their tongues, adding “…..and Good Lord W” would be quite a relief in comparison.
That way they would be allowed to say GOOD LORD and roll their eyes and actually get away with it, even in print where the eye rolling part would be the sole responsibility of the reader.
If I were president I would also get a different hair cut and buy more shoes. And does the White House really HAVE to be white? So many things to think about, it boggles the mind.
What superhero would you want to be rescued by?
Oh crap. Do I need rescuing? I hadn’t noticed.
Just give me a minute here to conjure up that little old superhero I keep hidden deep down inside myself somewhere. I know he’s in there because he’s popped up before to help me fend off THE FORCES OF EVIL.
Oh, wait – isn’t that a defunct reggae band or something where all the guys changed their last names to Evil? But they’ve disbanded the band. Maybe they decided to give up the daunting task of forcing evil on us all.
Okay, here he is! My super hero! Kick Ass Coffee Man! Stimulate and energize me, my amazing bean roasting friend! Rid my world of lethargy and inertia. Save me from torpidty and hebetude, for they are beastly villainous machinations of the devil!
So yeah! Okay, how hard was that? I should be good now for the rest of the day. Thanks buddy. See you tomorrow.
Home is something I have a sense of – it’s not just a building that shelters my family and our possessions, or the geographic point on the map where I was born. It’s the place where I can walk around in my bare feet, make a big mess and say whatever I want. It’s where my heart feels at peace and people know who I am – and quite possibly love me anyway.
I’ve been to the Pacific Ocean, the Arctic Ocean and the Atlantic (the one ocean I’ve crossed.) That’s a lot of physical distance covered, but how far I’ve made it away from ‘home’ is hard to measure.
Mostly the places I’ve travelled to have become my home. Maybe I just take home along with me wherever I go. When I leave my present home to travel to the other side of the country to visit family, I still call it going home, because that’s what it feels like. Even if it’s hard to pinpoint exactly where home is, I know when I’m going there.
I am a homebody, that’s for sure, despite all the nomadic wandering I’ve done. I’ve been homesick for different places, and the people who are there. Often my mind will go off on a million mile trip all by itself, but so far it’s always come back home. That’s the kind of ‘travel’ I prefer – the kind you do in a comfy chair with your eyes closed, confident that you’ll make it home in time for dinner.
The very best part of any other kind of travel, for me, has always been the part where I come back home, kick off my shoes, dump the contents of my suitcase on the bedroom floor and curl up in my very own bed.
Say these three little words to me and I will love you forever – “Let’s go home.”
I’m having a problem with Plinky in the last few days since it refuses to complete a ‘share with your blog’ process, and thus I’ve been doing a bit of cutting and pasting instead. Yesterday it asked me to describe my sense of humor. Good Gawd. If you have to sit down and think about how to describe the damned thing, chances are you don’t even have one worth talking about.
Today I’ve been prompted to share my professional goals for the next year, and then the next five years. I would be thrilled beyond belief to be able to share my professional goals for tomorrow if I actually had any. I’m going to a professional conference to learn our professional code of conduct rules in a couple of weeks. Kind of late in my ‘career’ to be making any major changes in that department. How sad is it that we have to be coached in the art of treating other people with fairness and respect.
I live in a state of constant hope that tomorrow’s prompt will inspire, motivate and challenge. And that I will rise up and hit the lofty heights of brilliance! Or just have one minor little epiphany or something. How’s that for a freakin’ goal.
“But, first a hush of peace – a soundless calm descends;
The struggle of distress, and fierce impatience ends;
Mute music soothes my breast – unuttered harmony,
That I could never dream, till Earth was lost to me.”
dream – a succession of images, thoughts, or emotions passing through the mind during sleep
So says the dictionary, failing to add that the dreaming process and the dream itself have been theorized and analyzed to death by people way smarter than me, so whatever I have to add to it all is purely from my own limited experience on the subject and not to be misconstrued as being momentously meaningful.
Perhaps I will have some kind of visionary dream as to why the dictionary left all that out.
Our little brains are dreaming all the time, even when we’re awake. It’s very hard to turn that off. We daydream and imagine and go into little mini trances to examine all sorts of illusions and delusions all day long. We remember things that happened yesterday and this morning and many years ago. If we didn’t do that, we’d have a heck of a lot less to say and fewer ways with which to annoy the people around us.
Falling asleep should be a lovely release from reality. A way to shut down and shut up and let it all go. But like a Timex watch, our brains just keep right on ticking, this time without the reality check switch turned on.
Little random pockets of stored information pop open and play themselves out in bizarre combinations for our dreaming pleasure. It’s probably a very good thing that we promptly forget over 90% of everything we dream. It’s hard enough to make sense of this chaotic world when we’re awake, never mind trying to glean some profound meaning from the gobbledygook our brain manufactures for us during the night.
The best part of dreaming is waking up and realizing that you were only dreaming; that chess pieces do not actually talk to each other and whine about where they are being moved to on the board, and that you absolutely did not, and quite possibly never will, become trapped in an elevator with a very nervous live skunk. That’s just a little preview of hell and should give you the motivation to turn your life around as soon as possible. Start with not eating cold pizza right before bed.
I suppose my ‘theory’ is that dream interpretation is nothing more than a pleasant little time waster, sort of like inventing excuses for not doing something you had no intention of doing even without rational explanations, or reading your daily horoscope, or opening up a fortune cookie.
So dream on, my friend. It’s not that serious.
When dawn breaks, morning has broken;
Night falls, but it never breaks.
Coffee breaks are the very best breaks.
You can take a break, give a guy a break.
Break it to me gently.
Break a leg.
Break a horse.
Break the connection.
Step on a crack, break your mother’s back.
But don’t break in, and don’t break out.
I’ve broken up
I’ve broken down
But never a spirit
Or any bones.
When you add up all that shattered china?
The pieces are worth nothing.
That’s why it’s impossible
To put a dollar value
On a broken dream.
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