it's been a while since i've placed numbers in front of random thoughts. pumped full of anti-histamines, decongestants, expectorants and anti-inflammatories, here goes:
1. i am listening to lounge'y shit: tango-flavoured, spanish-speaking señorita sounds so very hotttt and sexxxxy! which makes me wonder why we multiply the letters for goooooood things but not bad ones? can one be buttttt ugggggly? it doesn't work quite as well, does it?
2. i fear i may have turned into a cat person, or at least moved a few more steps toward the cat side on the dog-cat continuum. up until about a year ago i would have slaughtered anyone for even suggesting such a possibility. why the change, you ask? well, cats don't stink from the mouth, do not need to be walked, do not slobber. you can pet them, just like you would a dog (unless you're my mom - she barely gets to enjoy her cat due to its severe psychiatric problems, which cause it to spend vast amounts of time up in the heating ducts instead of earning its kibbles by purring in a lap, but i digress, which, come to think of it, i haven't been doing that much of lately, which, upon further reflection however, is more attributable to my lack of regular posting than to some miraculous brain augmentation which brings with it a better grasp of the subject at hand and an ability to stick with the aforementioned subject instead of running madly off in all directions...what was i talking about?). ah yes. you can pet a cat and then you can leave the cat and go have a life without feeling guilty or fearing your furniture will be eaten. so all the furry love but without the guilt, the early morning walkies and the doggie breath. and you get purring, which is really really cool. when i made the mistake of informing the spouse of my change of loyalty, he calmly told me that i was welcome to get a cat just as soon as the divorce becomes final. hah!
3. speaking of physics (hey, cats are made of protons, neutrons, electrons AND there's schrodinger's cat, so we kind of were talking about physics. indirectly.) what is it about packing that makes things multiply? why are there always more things to put into boxes than there is room in the boxes? also, why in the name of all that is good and holy do we have to do this AGAIN, and please please please jebus, do not make me do this again for the next several years. grrrrr. one more stunt from mr. m's company will have me going ape shit in the middle of their corporate headquarters. i promise you, there will be mouth froth. there will be inarticulate yelling. there will most likely be violence. i. do. not. want. to. keep. moving. any. more. okay? have we got that down?
4. must be the theraflu, (the american version of neo-citran) because i am definitely feeling better. i hope tonight's dreams do not once again force me to reconfigure the messed up psyches of a large segment of the planet's population following a botched attempt at psychological engineering. it is exhausting. believe me. i did it all last night. i don't know how successful i was. mister monkey still seems pretty odd. (he's doing a naked tango as i type this. he's just so durn cute!)
5. my mom is pretty worried about how sick i am and has been getting on my case because i haven't seen a doctor. well, in the u.s. it was too much paperwork, and now we are pretty busy packing (can't you tell? watch me pack!). she fears, and i sorta quote (well, my memory ain't what it used to be, plus the drugs...), that without antibiotics things could get bad. the intonation of this last word scared the bejeesus out of me, for some reason, and the danger of my careless attitude toward my own health suddenly became apparent and i asked mr. m what would happen if i did indeed need antibiotics and failed to get them in time (obviously i was filled with visions of death, shrouded mourners, many many shrouded mourners, sobbing crowds, flag at half mast etc.). which is funny, cause i am the one in the health profession, and he is an engineer, but i felt all confuzzled and murky and thought that perhaps i was failing to see some important Truth about the situation, because of my unwell brain. but he said that i'd just be sick longer. phew! THAT i can handle. here i thought i was going to end up stuck full of needles, breathing through a tube, surrounded by chipper nurses with professional attitudes and cold hands, hospital smell permeating all, droopy flowers and a hallmark balloon instructing me to "get well soon," and the sexy sexy hospital gown in a fetching light blue design, exposing my well toned buttocks (well, i think they're well toned, i can't actually see them, so they might not be, and if so, keep that news to yourself) to the universe at large, eventually succumbing to the illness and forcing my well-meaning family to tearfully pull the plug, and then those crowds of mourners and endless speeches about how wonderful i was... but if it's just a few extra days of feeling really shitty, well i can totally get behind THAT!
6. since i refuse to end on a nice round number, i am forced to add one more point. i hate it when i force myself to do this. i mean, what's wrong with ending on a 5? but you see, it all starts innocuously like that, and before you know it i'll be sporting a diamond ring, blonde hair, driving a hummer and voting conservative. first you fulfill numerical expectations, then you succumb to materialistic and political expectations, and next thing you know you are wearing a particular colour "because it's IN this season." right. i think not. i will NOT wear a colour because it's IN. although i might happen to be wearing it entirely by accident. and i will not write 5 points. or 10. although, come to think of it, i might have used nice round numbers in previous posts, like my 100 list. but i have grown since then. i have totally improved as a human being. i have taken steps toward enlightenment, and although i may never ever be able to sit in the lotus position, i feel, deep down inside, that i have moved forward. onward. so 6 it is. and, ooooh, what a six it is!