Saturday Night Stream of Consciousness Writing Exercise

I said I'd do this every day and dammit I'm not going to fold only three days in. I opened up the laptop and placed it, solidly, on my lap. There it sat, open and bright and hopeful, just waiting for me to deposit something great and profound or maybe something just meh. I put it off as long as I could. Watched the end of "Dazed and Confused", which I love so much but almost pains me to watch because it makes me ache, physically ache for my youth. But watch it, I do, and let myself feel the pangs while I notice how the characters no longer remind me of me and my teenage years cohorts but now, they are my kids. And that gets me to thinking, like I usually end up doing, about time and how crazy it is that it somehow manages to taunt us by going so slow (is there anything slower than the clock when you're sitting at your desk the day before a five day vacation?) and then in a flash speeds things up with an almost-audible WHOOSH (is there anything faster than the time going by on a five day vacation?). I think about the fact that two of my kids are now legit adults, like, voting-age, if-there-was-a-draft-they'd-be-called, we don't need no stinkin' parental permissions anymore, ADULTS. How the holy eff did that happen?

And then I notice Dazed and Confused has ended and I gasp when I see that The Big Lebowski has taken its place. This puts my blog post in serious jeopardy because for one, Jeff Bridges, whom I've been in love with since Tron, and two, every single other thing about this movie. It reminds me of the time, years ago when I kept food on the table by selling stuff on eBay, when I found The Dude Pendleton sweater at a thrift store for $3.00 and sold it for about $300. We needed the money, so badly, but part of me is so pissed at myself for selling it. Life is a lesson though and that's when I learned that kids need to eat more than a misty-eyed movie buff needs a cool sweater. Although I would have worn the crap out of that thing if I'd kept it.

Then Julianne Moore shows up in the movie and I think about her and how I've heard she's in a really good movie based on a really good book that of course I haven't read. Something about Alzheimer's and then I get mad at myself because I really miss reading. The last time I read, like "buried my nose in a book and didn't come up for air" was in August at my friend's cabin when I read Gone Girl, The Fault in Our Stars and If I Stay in one weekend. And it felt like I had been at a 5 star spa instead of holed up in a bunkhouse at a cabin in Wisconsin. I miss reading. I've been trying to read Unbroken now for over a month and damn if I don't fall asleep every single time I lay down in bed and start reading.

I look over at Walter, my dog, who is curled up on the couch, all 90 pounds of coarse yellow lab hair and juicy nose. I think about how happy he's been these past two weeks, with all of his people home. The boys were off for winter break and my daughter is home from college for a whole month. And then I had five days off. I start to think about how lonely my poor dog must be when I'm at work and the kids are at school and I feel guilty and then a mother effing commercial comes on about abused animals and I console myself with the thought that Walter is warm and fed and loved and the guilt slinks away.

And then another commercial comes on and I almost blush when I see that it's Kate Upton dressed up as Athena for a video game and hand to God I am enthralled by her breasts. I'm as straight as the proverbial arrow but oh my stars those heaving bosoms! It makes me think of the one email I still have saved from my ex, the one he once sent me from work and how when I opened it and read "I love your boobs" it made me warm and bothered. If I had to name the things I loved most about my body I'd cringe and then I'd mention my slim and shapely ankles and calves, and then I'd decide to go for it and say that I love my breasts. They are big and full and milky white and despite years of pregnancy and breastfeeding they are still truly lovely. It's not something you notice about me, not right away, because I'm not a "plunging v-neck" kinda gal. My clothes conceal way more than they reveal and therefore they are like a soft, pretty secret. Sometimes at night as I drift off into the twilight my hand will rest on one of them, not in a grabby masturbatory manner, more like a comforting pat and I'll fall asleep that way (because let's face it, they are nice to touch). Of course I sleep in an ancient sports bra because even though the ladies are a sight to behold they also get in my way. And I like my sleep to be as streamlined as possible.

I begin to wonder what my dreams will be like tonight, what with Jeff Bridges and Kate Upton and dog guilt and the gangly, groovy kids from Dazed and Confused. I think it's time to just hit publish on this thing and go to bed. Because I'm tired and honestly, I'm kind of looking forward to the stories Mr Sandman might be bringing me.

I will leave you with some visuals, so you can try and grasp the crazy stream of consciousness that flows through my cuckoo brain all the live long day:

The rack!

The sweater!

The youth!

The dog!

Can you imagine the slideshow in my head right now?

Sweet dreams.