Brought to you by the good folks at Unconscious Mutterings, here is week no. 170.
1. Represent :: stand in for.
I think it would be cool to represent myself in every aspect of my life except for when I’m making a mistake. Then I would like to pass the buck to someone else. This isn’t such an original idea, since I have noticed that blaming others for about any old thing seems to be the norm, except that no one will admit they’re doing it. Every sentence that begins with “You’re always. . .” or “You never. . .” is an attempt to hold someone else’s behavior responsible for my response to it, which is pretty irrational, when you come to think of it. Sometimes it’s just easier to say, “You’re always in my way,” than to say, “When you park your car in the driveway like that, I have a hard time getting around it, and I need for you to move your car please.” Maybe I’m afraid of a response like, “Learn how to drive, you old fool!” Of course, that could happen either way, couldn’t it? Hmm. The good news? It’s just a habit. Habits can be broken, behavior can be modified, and people can change. Hallelujah for that.
2. Mumbling :: muttering.
In order to process the contents of my life, I spend an inordinate amount of time muttering to myself. Most mutterers do so in private, but not me. With a house full of workmen at any given time of day, I can be puzzling over the most intricate of issues, pacing, and working them out in my head, only to look up and find several men standing in front of me staring, openmouthed, as if they’ve just happened upon the Grand Madame of Madness. All I can do is smile and move on. One day, the house will be finished, they’ll be gone, and I can mutter, unencumbered and free, to my heart’s content, without scaring anyone half to death.
3. Meetup :: Pittsburgh Writers Group.
I joined this little group several months ago and have been so far unable to get myself to their gatherings. I want to go to this month's meeting. It would provide the opportunity to spend 10 minutes at a mike in front of other writers (all strangers, even better), reading my own stuff, a good exercise for any serious writer. Good Lord, did I just refer to myself as a serious writer? How funny, which is the opposite of serious. Isn’t it?
4. Tantalizing :: lemon tart drizzled with cinnamon sauce and dotted with fresh raspberries. I ate one last night, and have not been terrorized by the systemic yeast bloom that I feared would nail me this morning, and which is usually brought on by a sugar indulgence of some kind.
5. Fake :: my smile.
Yes, I admit it. It can be fake, fake, fake. I was told 6 years ago to fake it until I made it, and I took that advice to heart. There are folks in my life who depend on me, and rely on that smile to feel better. It lulls them into thinking I am on an even keel, and have a helping hand to offer that’s steady enough to reach for. But don’t worry. My smile isn’t fake all the time, since, of course, life is filled with opportunities for sadness and the honest sharing of feelings between loved ones. But then I bump into those moments where I just gotta fake it to give someone something to hold on to—my way of patting their hand and saying, “It’ll all be okay,” without having to utter a single word.
6. Dale :: Chip.
My old sorority sisters, Wendy Allen, Wendy Somebody-Else, and Randy Schraeder, all from Fullerton, CA used to do a little top hat and cane “I’m Chip―I’m Dale” schpiel that was so popular with my sorority sisters that we insisted they do it for us almost every night during dinner.
7. Deny :: alcohol and drug addiction.
Before we get help, isn’t that just what we do? Pretty much.
8. Calories :: Last night’s lemon tart drizzled with cinnamon sauce and dotted with enormous, fresh raspberries.
Oh, God, it was good.
9. Roll :: Bread basket.
I shunned the bread completely. Why eat bread when there was a lemon tart coming? Plus, of the last 8 days, 5 of them have been spent in a state of misery over my body’s relatively new inability to process a certain amount of sugar and carbs. It started about a year ago when I noticed drastic weight gains in a matter of hours, accompanied by 2-3 days worth of body pain, fatique, sinus trouble, itchy, crawly skin, headaches, moodiness, panic, mental fuzziness, and physical clumsiness. After my doctor ruled out rheumatoid arthritis and lupus, I have since learned that all these symptoms could indicate a systemic yeast overload. After studying up on the subject, I learned that systemic yeast infections are common among women, and can be killed and thwarted with grape seed extract, acidophilus, and a number of other natural supplements. I went straight to GNC, and the supplements worked like a charm. Until a couple of weeks ago. I don’t know what it was about 2 bowls of raisin bran and a sandwich that sparked off a yeast bloom the other day, and a bowl full of Planters dry roasted peanuts that sparked one off 3 days before that; but last night I could indulge in a lemon tart, and wake up this morning symptom-free. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that I swallowed every yeast inhibitor I had in my medicine cabinet with about 10 glasses of water before going to bed.
10. 44 :: 88.
Why would I take this number and instinctively double it? I mean, why wouldn’t I think of 11, 22, or 66. Or 33 or 55? Or 00? I suppose I like everything to be even and fair. Tidy. Predictable. At moments like this, my Inner Perfectionism is sitting pretty and adjusting her heavy, golden crown, feeling quite important indeed.
The Queen bids thee a pleasant weekend.
Comments