Busted can of biscuits | August 26

Busted can of biscuits. You’ve all seen the little ecard, right? The one with a calm, petite little lady (I suspect she might be southern) demurely declaring something that I can relate to–not every single day relate to–but I can definitely relate to it. Today is one of those days. Except I would be lying if I didn’t disclose that the ‘busted can of biscuits’ feeling has a little bit been lingering since our return from China. For no particular reason other than I’ve been grazing like a cow–nay–like a herd of cows. Those bovines just eat and eat and eat. I don’t believe for one second that it’s emotionally motivated munching. [For the cows.] They’re just wired to eat. Well–that and the fact that they don’t have projects piled high and as wide as the immensity of space or children to run to soccer/ballet/piano/etc or dinner to organize, create and clean up or just a multitude of ”things” to attend to or be at.

[You know I don’t have children, right? Remember that one sign on the yard? Yuh. I mention them here to let you know that I know that there are things that go on outside of my experience. Boom-bam-pow. I think it’s a gift.]

And to be frank, I realize that there are those of you who are reading this post with your eyes all wide and your lips all pursed, with a little bit of sassy in your pants, and a spark of disbelief in your eyes thinking, “How can she possbily feel that way? Busted can of biscuits my eye. If I could fit into her clothes I wouldn’t be complaining. Who does she think she is?” [That’s a definite Beauty and the Beast reference there.] So. I am bravely and courageously going to let myself feel the way that I do because doing the opposite is the exact kind of thing that starts me grazing in the first place. Seriously. I start feeling tired and worn out and then what other people say casually or intentionally starts to sound like judgement [they could be talking about football and I take it personally–remember I’ve talked about my lack of translating and interpreting skills before] and the next thing you know I’m diving right into a bowl full of cookie dough with a spoon the size of a small country. Ugggh. And posting pictures of the seven cookies that were actually baked. [Just before I ate those as well.]

Seriously.

There are days when I feel like I spend more time trying to sort through the feelings that others have about the way I’m feeling [or the way they think I’m feeling–or the way I think they’re feeling about the way I’m feeling–or the way I think I ought to be feeling about what I’m feeling] than I do actually feeling the feeling I’m feeling.

[Just  read that sentence a couple of times. It makes perfect sense.]

~grin~

This busted can of biscuits has ordered one of these. It’s called a jawbone. It’s a real and true product. I don’t know why it’s called a jawbone other than–well–I really don’t know why. It doesn’t resemble an “opposable articulated structure at the entrance of a mouth typically used for grasping and manipulating food” at all. [I give all the glory to Wikipedia for that particular definiton.] Except–that perhaps I’ll grasp and manipulate food a little less with this revolutionary contraption wrapped around my wrist. [Maybe they use electricity to keep you movin’.]

I purchased a simple pedometer from our local sports store for $11.99 a few weeks ago. It was out of the package and clipped onto my pocket immediately so that I could begin the step counting of awesomeness. The little spring mechanisims are so loud it sounds like I’m jumping on old mattress springs that have been sitting in an abandoned house in the middle of a densely forrested area with high humidity and is consequently rusted to corrosive awfulness. Loud. I promptly repackaged the little monster with the intent to return it the very next day.

The very next day proved to be one of the hottest days [the inside car thermometer read 116 degrees–outside temp was only 98] we’ve had in awhile. I left the package on the seat. When I returned, the package was contorted and melted and all mine. [Couldn’t return it like that.]

Maybe I’ll use it as a giveaway later.

[If I could insert one of those little emoticons here, it would definitely be the little guy laughing so hard that he’s crying.]

When the jawbone arrives, you’ll hear about it. Maybe one of you would like to jump on the ‘do-something-about-the-muffin’ train with me. Hmm? We could figure it out. We could make it work.

We’d just hafta wanna.

Nuffin’ done means more muffin. That is all.

Okay.

The next thing I’m going to tackle is sleep–but that’s another blog post altogether.

Meanwhile–may your day be a busted can of biscuits free.

~grin~