I don’t have to use a walker to pump my gas.
Filed under: Deep South, Everyday, faith, humor, life
I have realized, lately, that I am, at best, a third cousin once removed from my own definition of self-awareness. I like to think I'm savvy and a smooth operator, most of the time, but I had a bit of a bitter pill to swallow yesterday, when, on my way back from Scooba (perish the thought!), I had to stop and get gas. This is hardly a new thing for me, but unlike my usual stop-and-gos at the Scooba Junction gas station, I had neglected to look at my gas gauge until I was in Brooksville, about twenty minutes north. I had no choice but to pull...
She was nothing short of a fire hazard.
I know this girl, we'll call her Melanie because that's her name...and OK, well, I don't really know her. I just saw her on TV the other night, a special that TLC was running on psychological disorders. Melanie had one. She's a hoarder. She hoards things, and I must say, I'd never even heard of such a thing before. It's rather disturbing, actually. My heart went out to her...but not at first. No, at first, I thought: "Come on! Give me a break. You've got to be kidding me! Can't she just clean it up?" I imagine a lot of viewers were thinking the same...
How on earth do you wash a Fedora? [and other random thoughts]…
I have been intensely busy, lately. Not just by hand, either. My mind...it often goes into Mach 7 when I attempt to procrastinate (by the way, the word "procrastinate," itself, is ironic - I mean, by the time you write the word out, you could have done something already - it's not a word for the lazy), and the only thing I can physically do to make it stop is to sleep (even though my dreams are usually full of anger when I do that - last night, for instance...ouch!), but if I don't stop it, from time to time, it just runs all...
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