I overslept this morning. Not by that much, but it seemed like a big deal at first, plenty big enough to cause a small panic. The alarm didn’t go off and when I woke up and looked over at the clock, I misread it. I thought it said an hour later than it actually was. I shot up and out of bed like the devil was after me with a giant pitchfork. My first thought was that I couldn’t possibly make it to work on time, even if I hustled. Thank God, when I turned on the light and looked at the clock again, I could see that it was actually an hour earlier than I thought it was. The Cosmos loves to play jokes on me.
We tend to spend much of our lives rushing about. We have jobs, families, clubs, and other activities which keep us on the move. We’re rushing even en route to our leisure activities. That vitiates some of the “leisure,” in my opinion. What’s going to happen to us when we’re 90 and the word “rush” is an oxymoron? Everyday life is without a doubt busy, sometimes overly so, a veritable whirlwind of rushing and logistics. With some time out and a lot of deep breaths, it’s not only doable but downright energizing (when it's not enervating us) at times. And it honest to God beats the alternative.
I’m thinking (because it’s always best to do that before senility sets in) of ways to fool old age and keep on moving in as high a gear as possible when I’m 90. I’d be bored to death confined to home and rocking chair, rushing restricted to how fast I could rock. I’m not really worried about that because I’ve always been a firm believer in mind over matter. I think that when the time comes, some of my genes will cover it as well. I have a distant cousin (actually, a cousin of my grandmother’s) in Savannah who, in her 90s, still puts on cute shoes and drives herself to lunch with her girlfriends. And I have great-aunts in their 80s and 90s who are fiercely independent and do what they damn well please. I think I’m going to be okay. I’ve had Bat Out of Hell and Bat Out of Hell II on my CD player this morning. I think that Meat Loaf and I will hit the big 9-0 around the same time. He may not be able to hit some of the high notes at that age but if he keeps on singing, I’ll keep on listening. Rock on.
In an addendum to yesterday’s post, the dirt’s getting deeper and the mud wrestlers a bit more pathetic.
O’Donnell: “You okay, Barbara?”
Walters: “I’m okay.” And, referring to Trump, “That poor, pathetic man.”
Walters: “He just can’t let go. We’re moving on.”
O’Donnell, referring to The Apprentice: “I’m happy to say, his show tanked.”
Trump: “Barbara has become a sad figurehead dominated by a third-rate comedian. I now wish she had not recently chosen me as one of the ‘10 Most Fascinating People.’ "
Trump: “Barbara is a sad case. This has revealed the real Barbara.” And, uttered in an ominous tone: “I know a lot about Barbara.”
Oh, my. This has now become a soap opera with a comedic twist. I like funny and I like a little dose of melodrama every now and then. I hope they don’t play this idiocy out indefinitely, though. One of them needs to put the other down in the dirt, rub it in a little, and be done with it. Of course, they’re all going to smell like swamp mud from now on.
We have a few mangled victims of Twisted Linguistics today.
suppossed – Someone who’s been dosed up with Preparation H.
blatent – A tent made from blanket material, or a blanket made from tent material.
consistant – A predictable ant.
payed – Laura Ingalls, suffering from a powerful toothache and a swollen jaw, came home to an empty little house and yelled out, “Pa, ‘ya dead?”
Do you trust your intuition?
|You Are 80% Intuitive|
You are a very intuitive person. And luckily, your intuition is normally right.
You're wise enough to know that relying on intuition alone can be dangerous.
When your intuition seems really off, you tend to ignore it - and look at the facts instead.