This won’t kill you, but neither will it make you stronger. You will smell bad and likely vomit repeatedly. You may gain 0.8 lbs from accidentally ingesting this delectable combination of random fats and seeds, but the puking should take care of that. You will most definitely rue the day you first came across me, my pants, my words, my demon spirit. Rue away!!!!
Now that my idle threat is out of the way, truth be told, I don’t particularly wish to rant and rave or even really write much of anything in a meaningful way. Sometimes things leap to my mind but get censored. Today, I am not going to.
I had a premonition about this blog, and in my premonition, nothing happened until NOW (formally known as then) when I said I had a premonition about this blog! In my foresight (not to be confused with foreskin, which I have never possessed, nor do I currently possess, to the best of my knowledge), I just knew it was a new mission to write at least one completely nonsensical+frivolous+pointlessly ludicrous blog post a month. I also sensed an intense longing, need, yearning, pining to repeat myself incessantly, saying what I meant, not once, nor twice, but repeatedly repeating the same words and meanings, again and again, until I could feel virtual punches to the face…fists of fury, irritation and proper English structure.
Mission accomplished! Well done, dweeberella!! Many smiles and much biodegradable confetti do I throw at the matrimony of my intentions, words and ACTIONS. A veritable TRIPLE THREE-WAY OF GOODIE GOODIE GUM DROPS! If this is the only resolution I make this year, I have already had an incredibly successful 2012, the likes of which cannot be matched much like a plaid shirt and hot pink fish pants (huh?…yuh!).
Welcome to this mind, the other mind of me. The random slim shady lady; the upitty weirdo who has a sense of humor and likes to use it. This little Leanna has been rather absent. This little Leanna has been stuffed with cotton like a couch cushion. Numb, dumb, hum-drum.
It is not often that this side comes out to play. Everything has been ever so heavy and I have forgotten that my belly is not just for jamming full of fat, but for gaffawing. Belly laughs, belly rubs, belly love! YARGLE!!!!!!!(newly minted term of yippee feelings).
If I am really going to feel better, I am going to have to yuk it up at the expense of public appearance, because this effn depression side o’ things is like a bucket full of larvae pudding. Gross (side bar: no offense to those who love larvae pudding).
However long these moments do last, I fight hard to get them. And damn it all to “Lucifer’s Lounge Lizards” Lounge and Pub, I am going to celebrate my mini moments like these with (dot dot dot) a good night’s blog, viewing of an old “The Office” episode, reading the tail end of a tale in novel form and then sleep. I already had a good afternoon’s run and a good evening’s dinner. This was preceded by a bad afternoon’s discovery that my running pants are too tight and a bout of near hysterical hyperventilation fits upon the floor, “Oh my God, I’m too fat, my tummy hurts, I need a job, my hair is frizzy, I don’t like Steven Harper, the pipelines, the PIPELINES!” (+gas…if my mention of gas offends/disgusts, just substitute with the word “sneezing”… gently in a delicate, female fashion…it just so happens these pure, clean, lily-scented hachoos were poofing from my behind).
* Inserted digression insertion here: Incidentally, in my growing up years, we weren’t allowed to say farts or gas; they were smellies or poofies. Anatomical bits were simply never to be mentioned. Literally. Never. Ever. Disturbing, oui. Welcome to random Greenway family Christian crap. I mean poo. I don’t know WHAT I mean. Gee whiz. Substitution! No cursing and no overly close substitutions…I remember one time saying “Geez ah….” and the wrath this induced. And the praying that followed. All of that incessant pleading to get the wicked out of me. What was the point? I wish little me could have seen into my filthy, swearing like a sailor future and known that it would all be o.k. So what if I thought “Shit!” maybe 6 times between the ages of 10-17? Sigh. Absurdity at its finest.
I wish I were kidding. But then again, I don’t. Because it makes for many hours of laughter and stories, embarrassment and then more chuckles. And my therapist gets to pay portions of her hydro bill each month with my fees.
This is quite the unintended digression.
Back to my non-point, which was, from time to time I am going to write crap that has less to do with significant crap in a clear and obvious way. I have been slapped upside the head gently by an aquatic noodle, reminding me today that I need to scrape the “down and out doubt” dung off of my heels and tip tap across the keyboard for no other reason than I feel like it.