My therapist has mentioned more than once that I have a “strong visual imagination.” (When he says “strong,” he means he’s quietly keeping one finger pretty near the button that makes the net come down on my side of the room, just in case.) Specifically, everything I see reminds me of something else, until the entire universe is so crammed with layers and echoes and memories that it’s a frickin’ miracle I can make it to the other side of the kitchen without emitting a memoir.
What’s my problem today? I can’t sit on the toilet without coming face to face with Roberto, the robot who will cut you.
Otherwise known as the exposed hinge where they swung on the cabinet door until it fell right off, just like I said it would.
Today I also discovered that our new AV doodad that makes the TV connect to the Wii and stuff is actually a long-suffering lactating mom:
Everybody wants a piece of her, poor thing. And what if she has an itch, eh? Or what if she needs to go to the bathroom? (Wait, not the bathroom! Roberto’s in there!)
And then of course we have this little problem: Every time I open up my iPad and it turns out I left the front camera on, I see this
and my first thought is, “Augh, that’s me!”
But that’s crazy talk. Another case of mistaken identity. In real life, I’m 26 years old tops, and I’m standing in a sunny kitchen, kneading bread dough while my children invent a song to help them remember their Latin declensions.
Ah, well. At least I haven’t cut anyone recently. But you may want to keep your finger near that button, just in case.
Have to laugh–50 years ago (how can that be!) I learned my Latin irregular verbs to “Silhouettes”. Still remember them!
Hahahahaha
I have the same problem. I promise you that it’s a blessing and not a curse (I think). That said, I must advise you that you must
Never, Ever, under any circumstances take a tiny bite of *anyone’s* pot brownie, even, EVEN if you have been driven to desperation because there is a lady at Thanksgiving dinner who actually *really* fasted ten days on bread and water so Donald Trump would be elected and now thinks she helped Donald Trump get elected. The pot brownie crumb will NOT help. –Such a disappointment.
Only someone who has been reading your comments with great appreciation for your wisdom and compassion, as I have for several years now, would get the belly laugh that I got from this one.
That’s sweet Leah. I must be the biggest lightweight lamebrain on the planet–it was 1/16th! (Even Moms are allowed to make questionable choices every now and then?) After eating the most delicious turkey of my entire life, and laughing until my sides hurt (I think I might have inhaled some of that turkey). I apprised my husband of the situation and we decided it would be best if I absented myself from the thanksgiving table, and put myself to bed without dessert.
Lesson learned.
I’m such an old stick in the mud I had to google to see what you meant by 1/16! I miss you, you Krazy Kalifornian!!!!
Philly, (Miss u too!!!!)
I felt like such a dork, –like the dumb freshman that drinks Schnapps. I got out in time before anyone noticed. A light buzz is all I ever want! I was feeling cocky because not long ago, I had come across some of my Dad’s chocolate cancer-edibles, and ate it in his honor. I hardly felt a thing. Last Christmas, I took a bit in his honor too, and it was fine. It just made us a bit silly. My oldest kid revealed to us that a nun once stuck her hand down his pants yelling “plumber butt!” when he bent over at his work study job (at a seminary!) at his university. We just stared at him for about five seconds and then laughed until we were practically rolling around on the ground. We reproached him for missing his chance at a settlement. It was the first time he’d ever told anyone. ….Bad, bad parents. He was laughing too.
I voted for the legalization of pot a few weeks ago, because I saw how much it helped my Dad. Medical grade pot that is regulated is a good thing because it is scientifically made. (x amount of THC per ounce…) These days, I’m told, pot is like 20 times stronger than when we were in college (not that it was my thing!) I did it once!… Bogle Chardonnay suits me just fine. Now they put really concentrated oils in,etc. etc. You can’t really know for certain what you are getting from that dude named Ramon with the side business. My brother once represented a well known former Victoria Secret model who passed out on her living room floor from licking a THC *lollypop* at her party. It wasn’t pretty. Nobody would think that a sweet little pink lollypop would pack such a punch.
I’m glad that now it will be regulated and labeled better. :/
Totally thought our Christmas tree was a 7-ft tall intruder, this morning.
I do that with lamps when I don’t have my glasses on.
More times than I can even count I have been walking through my house and thought “AAH!!! THE BABY’S MOTIONLESS ON THE FLOOR!!! WHAT’S HAPPENED???” when it is, of course, a doll. And my “baby” is in first grade. But, boy, those mama paranoias stay honed.
Pareidolia
Lucky. My neurosis is imagining all the potential ways a recent, brief, social exchange with an acquaintance could come back to bite me in the hiney. Because I stink at social exchanges. I just do, okay?
I would much rather see psychotic robots in my door hinges than imagine all the ways I could screw up being part of the human race.
We need a name for this neurosis, too! “Paranoia of Social Exchange Failure” doesn’t really sound sophisticated or scientific enough. No Latin at all, you know?
(Oh, dear. Probably I shouldn’t have written “sophisticated”. That really strikes the wrong tone. And maybe the exclamation point is too hyper? I meant the comment in a kind of friendly sister-to-sister way – “Hey! We’re fellow-sufferers!” – but honestly it just looks condescending or stupid or something. She’s bound to take it the wrong way. I’ve really got to stop leaving comments, ever. Dang. Why couldn’t I just keep my mouth shut?)