I have been writing everything lately- every thought that comes into my head. I have a notebook by my side always. If the notebook is to far-away I write a small post in my post editor. I don't have anything to write on in my car and the other day I had this 'zap!' of thought I wanted to get down and couldn't, today I am buying a small notebook. This is what I am doing now- just writing whatever I feel. These thoughts are ramblings, sometimes they make no sense and sometimes they make perfect sense, but more often than naught they make no sense. They are never in perfect grammar so if that is what you need look away.
There is a teacher at my children's school that left his wife for one of the mother's at the school. It made great fodder for the desperate housewife sect, myself included.
I saw him today and he is growing his hair out.
At one time he was a young teacher with no hair and a young wife and a dog.
And now he is a teacher with hair and a girlfriend and two pseudo-children.
I just found the hair thing so weird.
I hate when they make something taste like something else. Like Mento's gum tasting like a Mento's mint drop. Cause when I put Mento's gum in my mouth I want to just chew and swallow, not chew and chew and chew. It's so unfulfilling (is this a word). I am for certain this is why they don't make Tic-Tac gum.
They make bacon gum and I think the above rule still applies.
Fruit flavored beverage do not apply to above stated rule. They are fake fruit disguised as fake fruit. Never once did I take a drink of strawberry kool-aid and say "OMG this is does not taste like strawberry." Kool-aid drinks have cartoon fruit on the packaging. Cartoon drawings of actual food implies that you are not actually getting the food that is on the package but a cheap, sugary substitute that doesn't even taste like it's original counterpart. This is an unspoken rule.
Sometimes I imagine I am a cartoon version of my real self. Pencil-drawn. Black out-lined. My hair one complete entity instead of the 100 little hairs that stand up on end like in the real version of me.
In the cartoon version of me I would smile more and worry less. A sweeter, sugary substitute that doesn't feel like its original counterpart.
Sometimes, every once in awhile, I bite the ring on one of my husbands left finger. It is a test. Or some grand symbolic gesture. I imagine, as I bite down on the cold steel, that it chips my front tooth.
Or that I slice through it like butter against a warm spoon. And I imagine what we would do if my teeth sliced through it. Would we stop and stare at each other, fear in our eyes. Or would we laugh at this great anomaly that I had caused. Because I was the one that wanted to test that strength of the ring that sits on the finger, the finger that has a vein that goes straight to the heart.
I thought the other day