touch and go

Lately, when I talk, I have data retrieval issues. I will get about ¾ of the way through what I am trying to say, and I suddenly can’t seem to access the word I am seeking. When I type that, it sounds like the phenomenon commonly referred to as a “brain fart.” These are different though. The word could be as simple as “what,” and the intense panic associated with losing the ability to grasp the word – which is hanging out just back and to the left of where my brain fingers can reach – seems to cause the problem to echo. I then suffer through five to ten minutes of frustration as word after word escape my desperate neural office assistant.

Perhaps part of the reason I am not blogging and commenting so much right now is that I am afraid the same downfall will affect the typing portion of my brain. Of course, it is far more likely to be related to having a lot happening and, subsequently, less time to chronicle it (and the fact that most of it deals with boring details about different people’s medical issues and accompanying appointments).

Another issue might be that I finally started working on a massive responsive blog post to Pam that I have been thinking about for some time. It is almost as if I have declined myself permission to write about anything else until I finish that. This is completely self-imposed guilt, but it is effective nonetheless.

So here I am, whining and complaining about all of the reasons why I am not being a faithful blogger, thereby attempting to chase away my loyal audience (subconsciously of course) by my dismal attitude. So utterly kind of me, wouldn’t you say?

So anyway, on to some synthetic bread substitute - obviously, some of the desolation would be listed above. There are quite a few piddly, little desolations right now, but they are just that – windshield bug splatters on the great highway of middle(aged) America(n life).

The consolations? They, too, would be numerous. Some are, perhaps, as inconsequential (in an ounce for ounce comparative analysis) as the desolations, but they are beautiful nonetheless.

My God (not piddly): Psalm 91

My family:

Quotes of the week:

The husband: “Do I have any clean socks?”

The N boy (16): “You know, if you hold the unlock button down on your key ring, the windows open automatically.” (nice of him to discover in five minutes when I have had the thing for a year)

The S boy(14): “I paralyze you in your tracks with armpit stench! Attack, stink!” (imagine evil magician meets monster truck rally announcer voice)

The M boy (almost 12): “I don’t want to wash my pants. I am trying to save the ghost of Elvis ketchup stain for eternity.”


The J boy (8): “ I have elf ears. My elf ears are sunburnt since I never put them in my hat. My friends at church all call me oompa loompa because I am so small.” (all of this said in quite the cheery fashion)

The T boy (6): “I bet I am going to marry R when I get older and she isn’t my sister anymore.” (I seem to have lost my status as the one who will marry the boy)

The pink one (almost…gasp….4): “My friend R (imaginary friend with the same name as her) got hit by car. I take her doctor, but she dead. It’s okay, I put her in my pocket.”