My garbage drawer is overflowing
Sometimes I just want to sit down. And just think. No cell phone, no headphones, no computer, no television. Just sit on the porch and look around and enjoy the beautiful weather we finally have. Relax and, as Jefferson Airplane said in his 1971 song, “Well I think and I think… I couldn’t think of better.”
The thing is, the more I think, the more I realize how much of a garbage drawer my mind is. It’s a lot of stuff I didn’t throw out because, you never know, I might need it someday. While the garbage drawer at home is filled with things like a pencil with a used eraser, paper clips and rubber bands, a protractor, a few pennies, some broken sunglasses that I was planning to fix, six batteries AA, a D battery, Chapstick, scissors, tape measure, the obsolete Smith discount card, a Sharpie with a sunken tip, and that stupid key that won’t fit in any door, the garbage drawer in my head is full of other unnecessary things like the Three Stooges, whoopee cushions and “I could definitely use a John Brooks glazed donut now.”
When you’re not thinking about something specific, like solving a problem or making a shopping list, you end up getting distracted and you never know what’s going to show up in your noggin.
I can go from “my, it’s a beautiful afternoon” to “I need new brakes for the pickup” to “what was the name of that song I heard yesterday?” In a few nanoseconds. Problem is, if I’m not careful, that stream of consciousness can get me thinking about household finances and budgeting our money better and “do I really need a Keurig one-serve coffee maker?” “
And if that’s not all, then it gets really weird, turning into a litany of “what if”. Like “What if I won the Powerball lottery?” Or “What if I hit that deer last month while crossing Highway 60?” (Shudder.)
This is when “just thinking” turns into over-thinking, with qualifications in parentheses, and at that point I’m ready to take Winnie the Pooh’s advice: “You did you? already stopped to think, then forgot to start over? “
I don’t know if the monsoon rains are over for the season, but if you are one of those so called sun worshipers, your day in the sun was National Nude Day yesterday.
I don’t mean to sound too naive, but I wonder how people celebrate National Nude Day. Although I try to be an open-minded type, it sounds a bit gross, and I’m not sure if there are any nudists in Socorro, but there are a few things that come to my mind. First, you would spend a fortune on sunscreen, and second, you should be very careful with cholla and goat heads.
As far as I knew, there was no one prancing around Socorro in his birthday suit, but again, if there was, they would more than likely watch the day go by behind closed curtains. Or the nearest nudist camp, if there’s such a thing around here.
Suffice to say that yesterday (for me) was National I’m Too Shy Day.
Some of us are old enough to remember the craze of the 1970s, when some people “with her” thought it was humorous to strip down and run around in a public place.
Some said they were making a political statement, but which emperor had no clothes?
I skipped this fashion.
The only times I can remember being naked in public was in those dreams where I am somewhere and I suddenly realize that I forgot to put my pants on and have to go from place A to place B. And then somewhere along the line my pants reappeared. Am I alone on this? Wait. I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not something Freudian like the fear of losing my pants, which psychiatrists call gymnophobia. I know because it’s in the book The Interpretation of Dreams by Sigmund Freud.
The two things I remember about this book are that places are often treated like people and dreams are never concerned with trivia.
After that, you are alone.
We’ve all had completely weird dreams at one point or another and sometimes you can’t help but try to describe it to someone… like, “I was at work but it was really a bowling alley.” , and all of a sudden I was driving somewhere but I was on a bicycle, and I was talking with my brother, and my brother turned into my son, and… and… ”
At this point, you start to sound like Dorothy talking to Aunt Em and Uncle Henry about munchkins, flying monkeys, and a talking scarecrow.