This has been an interesting day. I call it interesting because I don’t think I’ve done much but sit in one spot and try to make sense. This is not as easy as it sounds. I finished my set of articles and this batch was insane. ( I edit and ghostwrite.) I do learn a lot at this task. And because I thrive in chaos, I listen to audiobooks or podcasts when I write. (Right now I’m listening to the opening credits of what appears to be a very poor quality movie. I do like the good and terrible.)
This batch of articles taught me that it is possible to have blocked chakras. Who knew? I asked my Amanda Friend if that was a valid excuse for being late. She thought it was kind of flimsy. The podcast I was listening to, The Fall Line, hosted on the new Exactly Right Network. I am sorry to say that I wasn’t playing closer attention, so I will have to go back and listen to the whole thing and considering that I was trying to make numerology make sense, I may have misheard- I thought the host said something about an ambiguous pelvis.
So which is worse, blocked chakras or ambiguity in your skeleton? Who knows? I’m pretty sure there is no algorithm for that.
Something I have noticed on my schlubby journey (BTW, I didn’t forget the exercise thing, I’ve just been distracted lately.) is that I stash things in my humble abode and then can’t find them. That’s not much of a problem because I live in a wee little place now so the problem is not if I find something it’s more of a when. Or a why the sweaty hell did I save this.
I have misplaced an important item and I know it’s here somewhere it just got shifted from where it was supposed to be due to the fact that the terribly social cat, Frances, eeled out the door while I was distracted. Frances is a sweet kitty and she loves people. Mostly she loves men. Since men rarely stroll through my apartment to say hello to the cats, sometimes she has to use her feline wiles to get out and stroll around the veranda. It’s eleventy million degrees outside and I don’t want Frances to singe her sweet little paws so I set down the important item and sought to bring her back in. (She allowed me to scoop her up after she had strolled past a gentleman who was by the mailbox.)
Whilst on my search for the missing item, I went through a stack of papers. I mostly established where they item wasn’t, but what I did find: my ID from my freshman year of college, 1987, my expired passport, a desiccated whole wheat rotini, and a business card sized replica of my Bachelor’s degree which I once used to scrape ice off of my side view mirror. I understand everything else, but why the rotini?
Why the rotini indeed.
Writer Chick 