My Normal Life

Zany To The Max

I love whiskey.  I don’t drink it for the wrong reasons.  I drink it for the fun ones.  There are the times that I feel I could use some on my down days, though.  The days when I turn to food, I wonder if maybe these whiskeys could be my magical potion, since chocolate is no angel to me.  Yet, Dr. Daniels seems to only increae my aggrivations with life, so I do not really have him that much.

Really making myself sound like an alcoholic when really my last consumption of liquor was probably two weeks ago.  If anything, I am cola addict.  I don’t want it, but I feel like I need it.  Some country guy brought it all up.  Really a Facebook post forced me to listen to his song.

I never listen to country music.  If it’s on, sure, but it is not one of my “genres”.  I couldn’t even name you an artist, Taylor McCintire maybe.  I can sit and enjoy my old time blue grass, listen to them banjo away, yet I cannot listen to Larry McGraw strum away on his wooden guitar as he’s singing along about drinking away his memories. 

I do love Emminem, though.  I love hearing how angry he is with his life and he’s being so nice, allowing me to rap along with him while I’m driving down Woodward.  I will forget to buy my mom her asprin, yet I can say his words with him that I believe I only learned from hearing three or four times. 

My mind works in mysterious ways. It always seems to.  Today, for example, I was singing along with a tape I had finally rewound.  The first song it begins to play is the opening theme song to the “Anamaniacs”.  I begin to sing along, word by word.  I have not seen or heard them in fifteen years, yet I still know what their beginning is.  I have to have my sister explain to me later how to find a Chinese resteraunt I have picked our dinner up at many time before, though.  I know it’s by a regular 7-11 of mine, yet my mind does not want to understand her.  I will remember some words to a childrens song from almost a whole other lie, yet the simplest straight directions my brain does not want to comprehend.

A period makes more than one type of a mess for me anyway.  I am not in this thinking, forgetful ways until my woman days of the month begin to approach.  I also wonder how less comprehensive other females are.  Do they not know what they did three hours ago?  Did they forget to purchase something they had been reminded numerous times, and even written on the paper in their hand?  Was an important appointment missed, even though their reminder did its job?  This all just increses my aggravation with my life.  I keep my post-its everywhere.  I carry paper and pen with me as well.  Yet my mind is not what it was before.  I feel it will always be this grumpy, old lady inside my head.  So, please, pass me my whiskey to help speed up what, I’m sure I won’t even remember.

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