I have spent a decade trying to stop the chattering of my little monkey brain, so to add a musical score to my life is just not in the cards.
But from time to time, echoing through the sojourn of my life I catch a brief hint of the former soundtrack of my life. It tries to poke and prod me towards remorse. I can hear it echoing across the chilling waters of beautiful Lake Michigan. I usually just accept it. Smile. Move on.
However the tune relates in so many ways to how I got to where I am here and now, I sometimes just put it on the old music maker and turn it up.
So speaking of cards…..
I literally take the concept of a day off literally. Previous sentence was brought to you by the Redundant Compartment of Redundancies in my head.
A day off means a day off. Nada zip zilch. As a recovering workaholic and a very low maintenance individual I am able to do that.
However I might spend a good part of the day planning my activities for the days too follow. Gleefully filling my calender and to-do list with reams of activities that would put Julie, the coked up cruise director on The Love Boat, to shame.
But not a finger, fickle or otherwise, would be lifted to accomplish said itinerary. I mean really. I am having a day off. Who doesn’t like to get off. I mean, really.
Of course I may never get around to doing all those things on that day off inspired to do list. I mean what is the point of a to-do list if it was empty.
So many productivity apps and so little time.
I have to get off the computer now because today is not a day off.
Oops. I mean, I mean I am Cousin It.
From the time I brought an orange to show an tell and said I was given it by my grandma, or so I have been told, to the healthy and happy living wreck I am today; the holiday season shpielkes are beginning to over take me.
I will once again be surrounded by normal happy people. Family, friends, and others who seem so comfortable together and I just know I will say or do something so wrong that no one will even mention it or make comment upon it.
How do I know this. Well I just do.
Meanwhile everyone will be doing everything just right, buying the perfect gift, big or small, but always just right and swoosh through another happy holiday season.
How do they do it?
Then again maybe most of them also feel like they are the “It” in the room and I am the one who breezes through life wrapped in my blanket of bliss, complacency, and ambivalence.
If today is less than yesterday, what guarantee do I have that tomorrow will not be less than today with today being my salad day but I missed it thinking about salad?
In the nineteen sixties there was a television commercial that asked the question:
Q: “Who made the salad?”
A: “Why Caesar made the salad!”
I made the salad. I will roll around in it getting slathered in oil and vinegar. Sometimes Balsamic. Bumping blindly into tomatoes and cucumbers and bits of onion until when all is said and done I will arise like the Phoenix from the salad all shinny and greasy with bits of vegetable stuck to me. Lest I forget, with bacon bits on me too.
That is how I know I made the salad.
So instead of looking back at days when I was around people I loved, but who might not have loved me, yet tolerated me for my salad of the day.
Or revisiting my youth when I was surrounded by people who loved me and thinking I did not sufficiently love them back.
I shan’t peer back into the fog of days spent working on things and with people I cared little for on things that were of questionable value, yet brought in a big heaping bowl of salad.
If tomorrow wasn’t such a long time I might forget the salad.
Instead I am spending today wondering where those anchovies I put on that salad have gotten to.
In the constant quest of being uber contrary, I would take that golden key and first make sure it was really gold and not pyrite. I would not bite it since who knows where it has been. But once convinced I had the goldie gold key instead of opening something and unleashing who knows what on the universe, I would lock something away in a magical blue box that is bigger on the inside.
You know Who.
I would lock away all of humanities fears.
Now good ol’ Ziggy Zig Ziglar would say that fear stands for False Evidence Appearing Real.
But he was wrong about that as was his penchant.
It really stands for False Expectations Appearing Real, a subtle but substantial difference.
After all Ziggy Zig Zag was shilling expectations. Mostly that he expected you to buy his books, tapes, and attend his seminars.
Self interest will be with us always.
But by removing fear as a common motivator for many our actions we might survive into a glorious and distant future so that you know Who could visit us along that new fearless timeline.
I would tell you where to send me your thank you notes but all that attention would just creep me out.
I have spent way to much of my time. Waiting to grow up. Waiting for women to get ready. Waiting for clients. Waiting for the bus to come. Waiting for my favorite TV show. Waiting for the electrician or someone like him. Waiting for Godot.
I have also regretted when some of the things I thought I wanted showed up on my plate.
Especially since the last thing I will be waiting for might well be the ambulance.
Best to just enjoy this keyboard and touch-pad on this fancy ciphering machine that I can bang on and send my stream of consciousness across the internets.
Now I will have to wait for the next Daily Prompt.