Random Thoughts: The A to Z Blog of the Overactive Mind

  So, I'm going to say this right off the top:  If you're still reading my blog at this point, chances are you're either a deeply loyal reader or a delusional paranoid schizophrenic who bookmarked me instead of WebMD by accident. Or maybe you just haven't learned how to unsubscribe. Whatever the real reason is, welcome back, and thanks.  You are now in the rarefied company of the most elite - well, elite- ish -  group of readers to be found on the internet. The Superfans. The kind of people who, like myself, would survive a nuclear meltdown with nothing but sarcastic wit, stubborn curiosity, high-jink hilarity... and a cotton swab. As long as there were cheese puffs. I salute you. Partly because I'm truly appreciative, but mostly because I'm afraid you'll glue yourself to the comments and spam me with question marks and confused emoji faces. And while we're on the subject of glue: A Brief History of Stickiness I read somewhere that in today's impati...

  Maybe all catastrophes start with a sneeze. Not even a particularly spectacular one, just a mundane, routine, average Tuesday morning type of sneeze.  Mine started like that, but the more I thought about it, the more something about that singular sneeze seemed off. I began asking myself questions: Was it a little too forceful? A little too sudden? It rapidly went from the not think about it variety to the kind that stresses you out because it seems suspiciously like the kind that preceded a characters untimely demise at minute 38 of a Chicago Med episode. I sniffled, paused, and made the first of many poor decisions that morning: I consulted Dr. Google. Okay. For the record, drama was not my intent. I simply searched "random sneeze causes", nothing more. Very calm and casual, a mere inquiry. Just me casually engaging in a little amateur medical detective work. The results popped up faster than a bouncy-castle at a Children's Hospital fundraiser: Allergies. A cold. Dust....

  At least every one of them were spelled correctly. It didn't happen all at once. Like a good cheese or a neglected houseplant, mental necrosis takes time. You don't just wake up and come to the realization that you need a check-up from the neck-up. Madness is inched towards. In my case alphabetically. I didn't set out to unravel. I wanted to take this passion and gift I've always had for writing and turn it into something enjoyable. A blog, some short stories, maybe a recipe that doesn't involve any actual cooking. Or food. Maybe a self help book for other writers. I could call it "Write What Writing Writers Write When Writing for Writers Who Want to Write." Genius. Maybe idiot. But that's literally another story. When I look back, I can see that my journey into madness had 13 very specific steps. The number of posts I've written: 13. Actually, 14 including the introduction bit, but nobody goes mad in the first episode. Ask the Hatter. Tiny, inno...

  I don't own a llama. I don't have the property, fencing or even the temperament to own one. But that doesn't prevent me from lying to myself every time I watch a video of one of the beasties sporting a little knitted hat and spitting enthusiastically on innocent passers by. That's when I say to myself, "Oh, yeah. I could totes live the llama life." Plus, it would be awesome to have that happen the next time the landlord comes and pokes around our backyard without notice. This is what psychologists call "delusion."  I call it "woolly optimism."  Either way, I would not 'totes' live the llama life. (I wouldn't 'totes' say 'totes' if I hadn't heard it fifteen times standing in line at Tim Hortons with what felt like several thousand high school students the other day.) And that's just one of the things on the ever-growing list of untruths I feed myself like motivational M&M's. If those M's sto...