My fingers are a bit stiff and Neosporiny this morning. I am finding it difficult to type. I am also finding it difficult to resist the urge to have some caffeine. But I know it will just end up making me manic! Right? Come on, tea kettle, whistle already so I can pretend my herbal tea is the strongest, blackest, thick-as-mud coffee this side of the Mississippi. Imagine if we lived in Mississippi and how much that would suck. Anyway, tea! Got it now. No worries. Got my Bengal Spice CAFFEINE FREE tea and my caffeine free ice cubes and my "all natural flavor lemon lime sparkling water beverage," which I guess is technically what I'm having for breakfast. I know. Sigh.
You know what worked for me yesterday morning? Typing out my thoughts as they popped into my head. I can't slow down my thoughts in the morning, although I'm sure it would be beneficially if I tried, so instead I unload them all onto you. Lucky! I occasionally attempt to get all deep and introspective in these posts in the early hours of the day, but I just end up freaking myself out and becoming morose.
Tuesday Morning's Popcorn Thoughts: Proven to be Exhausting.
Tuesday Morning reminds me of the store by the same name. I think I've been in there once. I wonder if they sell popcorn makers? Of course they do. But the real question is -- Do they sell popcorn makers for the mind? You would put an idea you have, no matter how small or grandiose, into the tray and then turn the sucker on and within four minutes your idea would be fully formed and dripping in hot butter. All you need now is some salt. I am sure you can wander on over to the grocery store next to Tuesday Morning and buy yourself some salt for the soul.
I began reading the Wikipedia page on popcorn makers and was THIS close to telling you all about Charles Cretors, the man who invented the priceless popper, but decided against it. It's not that I don't find Mr. Cretors fascinating and believe that you too would find him fascinating; it's just that there are too many other kernels swimming around in my brain and too little time to spend on someone who is now dead and a ghost.
Speaking of ghosts, isn't this description of a cemetery in East of Eden more perfect than a popcorn maker? "The traditional dark cypresses wept around the edge of the cemetery, and white violets ran wild in the pathways. Someone had brought them in and they had become weeds."
Remember how I wrote yesterday that I would like to live in San Francisco? Well, that's not entirely true. I think that as much as I love the culture in big cities, I get too overwhelmed by the options (and the crowds and the costs and the cacophony of sounds). I want a little liberal town with salt of the earth folk and a thriving arts scene. I want boring town hall meetings and sleepy cafes. I want park ponds with ducks who eat the pieces of popcorn Grace, Mollie, Ida Mae, Madeline, and I toss at them. (Yes, I have two more adopted children in this fantasy. So sue me! So sue me for giving two more Asian babies a pleasant life in a pleasant town!) I want an idea, I suppose. I want my small, hidden kernels to become big time buttered-up-and-salted realities.
Okay! Time to work! Reminder to self: Work is a good thing. There is even a popcorn maker in the teachers' lounge.