There are a lot of things I have wanted to be:
- Aerobics instructor
- Yoga instructor
- Buddhist nun
- Dental hygientist
- Postal worker
- Tap dancer
- Meteorologist
- Novelist
- Envelope stuffer
- Truck driver
- Photographer
- Jump rope professional
This could help you write a novel.
![DSC00385[1]](http://slimegreen.files.wordpress.com/2013/05/dsc003851.jpg)
![DSC00388[1]](http://slimegreen.files.wordpress.com/2013/05/dsc003881.jpg)
Dingle Berries for Breakfast. Ew.
I love that I did not walk into the kitchen to find this silly joke sitting on the table in the morning, only to laugh as I grabbed a bowl and spoon, and shake my head at what a silly man I married. That would be too close to living with a normal jokester.
No. I had to find this in picture form only. Where? While perusing through an album of super cute baby pictures from family members and friends who have recently spawned. This picture closed out the album, and I so did not put it there.
Before I laughed, my brain had a wtf? moment. This is usually how I experience my husband’s sense of humor.
There was no time to wipe.
“Ahhhhh!”
I stopped peeing mid-stream.
There was no time to wipe.
I leaped onto the edge of the tub, crouching, pants and panties still around my ankles.
“Centipede on the wall! CENTIPEDE ON THE WALL!!!!!”
Enter hubby.
Kleenex.
Squish.
Squish.
and
Flush.
“That’s right, you go down with half of my pee, you nocturnal bastards!”
Nerds are good in bed.
You know you are married to a nerd when….
Your mom-in-law takes you and hubby out for pancakes, and hubby does this with his plate:
Pac-Man. Which I rock at. Which may have played a big part in why he wanted to marry me.
It is all very wibbly wobbly.
Am I a terrible person? Why else would people so often be angry with me and annoyed by me to the point that they must tell me so? I say, ‘so often,’ but that is probably a fallacy my depressed self thinks of, when in fact For every mean-to-me person in my life, there are probably 42 kind and positive ones if. If I ever sat down and did the math, I bet it would be somewhere around there — 42, I mean.
In my head, I have only ever tried to be nice and pleasing to everyone in my path. I have been taken advantage of several times as a result (you know, the whole people pleaser thing). When I finally started standing up for myself at times, I discovered that some people don’t like that, and I just get more comments from them about what a horrible person I am.
I think, ‘You must experience me differently than I experience me.’ Which I suppose leads to, ‘I must experience you differently than you experience you.’
Is the world really at war all of the time? Is there no peace anywhere? Can we all just decide to be kind to each other? Can NPR do a story about a country that is awesome and peaceful during rush hour tomorrow and share hope that peace is attainable? (I have to bring the microcosm of small disputes between people to the larger issue of world peace of course. Because if we could just all get along, then there wouldn’t be war, would there be?)
How do I stay away from people who are hurtful? And how can I help them so they do not just turn around and hurt someone else? Or to them, am I the hurtful one? It is all very wibbly wobbly.
A kind of crying that felt sort of awesome.
“Are you okay?” Hubby runs into the room, his face crinkled with worry.
Sniffle. Sniffle. “I’m fine.” I wipe my face with my shirt sleeve, drying a tear (and, thankfully, not getting snot all over myself). “This book is just so good!”
“Okay… Um, let me know if you need anything, I guess?”
“I’m good, thanks,” I whimper, then reach for a tissue…
