Champagne Thought Bubbles… 4


It’s happened.  I’m officially that ‘housewife’ that perks up when she notices that its 2pm because she’s convinced herself that this is an appropriate time to enjoy a glass of cab to relieve the day, round out the day, get through the day.  It’s surprisingly easy to accept, much less guilt and bullshit than I expected.  The one thing that continually irks me, however, is I am NOT a housewife.  I mean, technically, I guess you would have to categorize me that way, but I am really no housewife.  Not that I can accept and not that any sane or sober man would accept.  I don’t think that moniker could ever hold me.  Or sustain me.  It is a disservice and an insult to the intelligence of anyone with a modicum of insight to assume they would accept this about me.  Right?

As I am sitting here in (for once) clean ‘loungewear’ in my perfect, tidy, safe little corner “office” in my front room, which I no longer need as I am unemployed AND not finishing my degrees yet I still adore and refuse to even ponder giving up, I notice the random monotonously ‘normal’ things that I always notice and decide to share one thought with curiosity about other people’s thought patterns bubbling in my head like Gizmo’s back after an accidental misting…

The flowers pictured on the tissue box plopped haphazardly to the left of my decrepit laptop (something that ‘working’ superwoman of the past would never have tolerated) look like a male-devouring female praying mantis licking her chops in anticipation of a particularly delectable meal.  This makes me think of Thanksgiving. More on this later in the week…

It also makes me think of Black Widow spiders, for which I have a diabolical affinity, which makes me think of Scarlet Johansson, for whom I have what might, by some, be considered a shocking affinity, which makes me think of religion and homosexuality and bisexuality and Christianity and war and judgment and hate and acceptance and immurement and immolation and imagery and alliteration and tolerance and adultery and murder and love and endangered species and sex and honesty and societal norms and heroism and confessionals and Kant and democracy and polarization and motherhood and self-loathing and vinyl and black nail-polish and living the exceptional life… to name a few.

Isn’t the mind a terrible thing to taste?

How much of my thought pattern is being influenced by my current immersion in the hot summer read that I am embarrassingly reading only now and only because of all the ‘talk’ surrounding it, I don’t know.  Oh, and please don’t infer that the book is anything other than riveting, I am thoroughly enjoying it as it is so achingly familiar. (Gone Girl, if you are wondering) OH! That gives me an idea! I will post my current reading list (which I will have digested 75% of in the next 4-6 weeks to avoid the sub-letter’s derisive and unforgiving scorn) so that I might get some solicited referrals for additions.

As I am not working or finish my degrees, my mind is a caffeinated jitterbug junkie desperate for a fix that scrubbing my molding with a Clorox soaked toothbrush just cannot provide so I am reading with more tenacity and voracity than ever before in my life… this is a staggering amount of reading BTW as my firmly established identity as a famished and dehydrated word-whore whose frantic crusade for sustenance has morphed, horrifyingly, into what amounts to an addict pulsing with need, rushing headlong into schemes and opportunities for satisfaction, no consideration for consequence.

Oh, wait.  Now it simply mirrors the rest of my existence.