Last week was just one of those seriously disjointed ones, as I’m sure this post will reflect. I must have a vital nerve pinched somewhere in my brain, one that’s supposed to help me process information and stuff, because I havn’t been able to accomplish shit. Not only that but I think that the workmen we have on site have conspired to unravel me. As soon as I arrive back home from the hardware store, they send me back again to get something else. And then when I arrive back with something else, they tell me they need me to hire a machine of sorts. And when I arrive back with the machine they tell me they need an extra long extension cord for it. Why, if they had it their way they would insist that I bring home the building materials stone by stone, grain of sand by grain of sand at a time, just for the sheer fun of it.
Due to this unraveling I realized that I’ve totally been cocking up a whole lot of words. Like saying tenderhooks instead of tenterhooks. I see my error really. When is a hook ever tender? Though, what the hell is a tenter hook anyway? Sounds like camping equipment (shudder). I also mixed up tectonic plates and titanium plates again. My story kind of fell flat and I just got a lot of funny looks.
To remedy this misfiring, a friend suggested I take more Omega 3 and then, quite fortuitously (we’re on a big savings drive due to the expensive workmen), I read on my hand wash bottle that it contains Omega 3 + 6. Pah, no need to buy the supplement then, right? But they must be lying, there’s no way there’s Omega 3 in there. Have you seen how much those supplements cost?
Perhaps due to the asynapsosis I’ve been suffering, I completely didn't notice that a friend had had Botox. I just thought she looked really calm. Asynapsosis or not, I have a reputation of being fairly unaware when it comes to noticing odd things about people. We’ve even had someone for dinner before who was on heroine at the time and I didn’t notice that either. He only told us afterwards. I just thought that he looked really calm aswell. I need to remedy this unawareness because when my kids are older I’ll neither recognize if they’re on drugs or getting cosmetic procedures done on the sly.
Just to make me feel extra Not-at-my-Bestness, I saw in the local rag that tickets were on sale to watch the annual Mr. and Ms Physique that was on this weekend. For the thousandth time, I entertained the thought of really trying to become a body builder. One day. You know, just to see if I could. Then I pictured having to sit down at every meal and face things like boiled white meat and squeaky blanched string beans and for the thousandth time, I reconsidered. What’s more, I’m pretty sure God meant for egg whites to be served as meringues.
To top off my cerebral misfiring, Mr Professor Pants once again pressed me for details on how one contracts HIV. He’s paranoid about getting a dread disease. After talking through the whole “from someone else’s blood thing” I had to say (quite fast and under my breath) “and also from sexual intercourse”. What is that again mom? Umm. You know, the thing that moms and dads do when they are trying to make a baby? What! You’re going to have another baby?
By now Too Fast Too Furious (TFTF) had picked up on the conversation and wanted more specific details on the blood part. He asked how come he was covered in my blood when he was born but now he’s not allowed to touch my blood? It became too tiresome to explain how in the interim, I could have contracted HIV (again from Professor Pants… But how would you have mom? Are you trying to have another baby?) Eventually, I just had to ask TFTF why he would want to touch my blood. The obvious 6 year old answer…Because I just want to. Bloody hell. Only a week and a half then I’m on holiday. Ba-ring it on.