Why Is that Spatula Staring at Me?
Aside from the overused “setting on a washing machine,” I think we have determined that there is no such thing as “normal.” For me normal is:
…having a permanent dispensation from jury duty because “there are no facilities available in the courthouse, for me to take my meds.”
…never having to worry about which shoes to wear. There are town sandals and work sandals and it’s pretty clear which are which.
…writing and posting between the hours of one and six in the morning.
…never being able to watch a home night game from AT&T Park because, well, they start after seven.
…forgetting to eat until I have been up and rocking for twelve hours, and someone reminds me that most people find it necessary to refuel upon occasion.
…being able to work comfortably at the kitchen table, while the world swirls around, within and through me-simultaneously.
|The author of Mark's Work|
…working from wake-up until down-fall, which for me is “normally” about 18 hours.
…being thrilled when the Giants play on the East Coast, because the games start at 4:10 in the afternoon.
…refusing Big Pharma’s answer to a mood spectrum disorder, preferring cannabis instead.
…listening to my Beats until my ears can no longer stand the headphones, and then listening to music without headphones.
…drinking vast quantities of coffee and even more water-and nothing else.
…dancing as though no one were watching, because they’ve all seen that movie before.
…keeping two or three ice cubes in my hat when it is hot; not only does it the melting ice keep me cool, it makes it look as though I am working my backside off.
…welcoming Sleep, whenever she should grace my presence.
…talking to my chickens (though not expecting any responses-yet).
…handling a pitchfork wearing sandals. When questioned, I always say the same thing, “I managed to avoid impaling my foot while wearing boots; why would that change?”
…preferring to camp over at the coast, to flying to the Fill-In-the-Blank Islands.
…avoiding social situations until no longer avoidable.
…struggling in restaurants.
…listening attentively to everything that is being said, nodding appreciatively, but comprehending little.
…feeling claustrophobic as f**k in the Willits Safeway. Someone is always in my personal space and it makes me uncomfortable.
…intensely disliking any kind of travel, even if it is only to Laytonville. I can do it, even alone; I just hate it.
…having the ability to communicate with dogs. Not talk to them-just communicate.
…having multiple ongoing projects: gardening, construction; organizational; writing; landscaping, especially weed-eating; cleaning; artistic; et al.
…going to extremes [Editor’s note: Department of Redundancy-Hall of fame], as in planting 120 Heinz tomato plants.
…feeling ungrounded when by myself, for any length of time. I hate it. Fortunately, it always results in a spotless house!
…having three contact phone numbers on my phone.
…watering by headlamp.
…not being able to locate the spatula in the utensil drawer, though it is staring right at me.
…determining as early in the day as possible, who is running the show: Mark or Markie.
When it’s Markie, I make sure that my seat belt is securely fastened. That’s all.