You know when you leave the vacuum hose laying across the kitchen floor into the dining room. Yup, that’s my brain today. It’s kinda just laying there–all limp and lazy like.
The hose is covered in a long snake-like sleeve so it doesn’t scratch the walls whereas my brain is wrapped in caffeine and a fuzzy remittent of something that was in the fridge–I thought it was cheese but now I’m not so sure.
It’s kind of weird because the Christmas tree is all sparkly in the corner of the room, the cat is clawing the couch, the stockings are perched perfectly on the fake hearth of the electric fireplace–no I don’t know how Santa gets in–and the dog is just happy I’m in the room. But none of that really matters as long as that damn hose is laying in the middle of the room. You see the next sentence with My Twisted Writer Brain will emulate the hose and start going back on itself. The whole thing is nuts and I want it gone–the hose, not my brain.
So my solution to the whole thing is to grab a fuzzy deep pile blankie that is draped so lovingly over the back of the couch (don’t touch that…it looks nice there…Company shouldn’t think we actually use them….omg!)–Yup! I went there. I grabbed it and wrapped myself in its gentle warmth and turned my back on the situation left in a puddle on the floor.
Now I’m staring out the window. It’s getting dark and I can see the reflection of the fucking hose in the glass. I didn’t leave it there and I’m not going to be the one to pick it up. My Twisted Writer Brain is all I can be responsible for and that’s more than enough. Anything more and it would really suck.
Have a great and happy–unsucky–day.
