Pleasantly Demented

her thought process appears to be disorganized with the presence of flight of ideas and hallucinations

10:39 PM

Grave Decisions

April 24, 2011

I have always tended to follow my instincts much more than my noggin.  What feels right seems to overwhelmingly usurp carefully weighed decisions, or even some things most people would see as common sense.  Take homeschooling for instance.  Many, many things contributed to that decision, most of them stemming from feelings rather than facts.  Feelings.  Like watching my 5-year-old baby child have to wake up when it's still dark outside to go to a huge building full of people neither he nor I know.  To do what?  What was he doing there that I couldn't provide him with?  Now, even when other parents feel all these things, their "common sense" usually provides a nice sized buffer between feeling and doing.  My brain didn't do that.  In my head, I thought, "Okay, I don't like this.  So, I'm not going to do it anymore." Full stop.  Pretty simple, really.

Same thing happened when my husband got orders to Korea....well, really, both times.  It wasn't a duty station families are supposed to accompany the soldier on.  Army didn't pay for it.  Back then, in the area of the country we lived in, there were no facilities for family members, no schools, hospital was 2 hours away, no housing, nuttin.  In this situation, 99% of families stay in the states for the entire length of that tour.  Well, I thought that was pretty dumb.  I didn't want to miss out on living there.  That would have sucked, right?  So, I moved to Korea.  It made total sense.  Both times.  Yes, we paid to fly, lived in typical Korean houses, and rode 2 hours to the hospital.  For a year.  Twice.  One of the best fucking decisions I ever made.

Most of my decisions have gone something like that.  And with very few exceptions, most of those decisions turned out to be the right ones, or at least really fucking fun.

And I've heard the phrase, "Oh my god! You mean you actually DID IT?!" more times than I can count.  

This is not to say I am impulsive.  I'm really not.  At least, not in the way most people define it.  I weigh pros and cons.  I evaluate how they will affect other people.  I'm certainly a planner.  I'm smart about what I do.  I didn't take my kids out of school without a plan.  I didn't move across the world without a plan.

But most of the wacky decisions I make are to questions most people wouldn't ever even consider.  Jumping out of a plane.  Sticking holes in my face.  Running off to another country at 17.  Shunning institutionalized schooling.  I could go on and on.  

Hmm.  This looks fun, I think I'll go over here.  Oh yeah, that is totally what I want to do.  I'm gonna do it.  What's that you say?  I can't?  Well, I'll fucking figure that shit out.  Watch me.  

So what's my problem?  Does my brain not work right?  I'm sure some people would call it a raging case of immaturity.  I've heard a lot of people say that I am brave.  No.  Brave would be making the opposite decision your instincts tell you to make.  Brave would be silencing that inner voice in favor of making what you would consider the "smart" decision.  Isn't that true?  I don't know.  I'm certainly not saying anyone should jerk their kids out of school and move halfway across the globe.  But I know everyone has equivalent decisions, the same kind of crossroads, should I's and shouldn't Is. 

Here's what I do know.  You only have one chance.  One chance to not necessarily do it "right," or do it "safe," but do it AWESOME.  Full tilt.  Fuck the masses.  Go all the fucking way.  There are no mulligans.  You don't get a do-over.  When you come to the end of your days, you're either going to take that last breath with a smile on your face, or struggle to take it while suffocating in a room crammed full of mediocrity.  And when you only have one chance, mediocrity is not an option.  Unless, of course, you like mediocrity.  In which case, bring your oxygen mask.

5:36 PM

Coyotes

April 14, 2011

What the hell?  You people seriously want me to blog at a time like this?  My creative juices have been sucked down a vortex of blathering idiot faces laughing at me as I fall to my intellectual doom.  Fuck it all to hell.  I think I can actually feel my higher evolutionary plane of gyrencephalization reversing itself, denigrating into some sort of early cro-magnon-slash-monkeyfucker cannibal....... thing.  What did I just say?  I need a slurpee.

Be that as it may...... insert some other pointless colloquialism here.....  I decided to blog anyway.  Much ado about nothing.

I looked around my desk and decided to blog about the first thing I saw.  Lucky for you, it was my Ipod.  On shuffle.  Let's see..... completely random..... first five songs......

















Suck on them nuts. Going back into my cave now.

April 4, 2011

Well, it's official.  We have come out of the dark ages of television and replaced our gigantic, monstrous, old-timey TV with a flat screen HD thingamafuck.

Don't misunderstand me.  This son of a bitch is a 55-inch flat screen thingamafuck.  Oh yes, nothing but the biggest for Sarge.  At least the biggest for sale at Target.  Surround sound is currently in the hands of UPS as we speak.

You have no fucking clue how imposing that humongous black rectangle is on my wall.

We've resisted the urge to replace our perfectly good TVs so far.  Sarge would say it's because I'm cheap.  Wait, no.  My best good friend Bobby would say it's because I'm cheap.  Sarge would say it's because I'm frugal (with a wink).  I would say it's because I couldn't care less about material shit like that.  I get my rocks off on things like dollar-cost averaging and high-yield bonds. 

However, as soon as I started spouting off about American material excess and the fact that I would be perfectly happy replacing our couches with huge bean bags and stringing up Christmas lights in the living room, Sarge would say, "Well, what about the $100 worth of panties you just bought from Victoria's Secret?  They have perfectly good panties at Wal-Mart!"

And then I would say, "touche." 

But that still doesn't fix the problem of this eye-gouging black rectangle on my wall.

At least I have sexy panties, though.  

And no, I'm not showing them to you.

Sucker.