I thought as fellow sojourners, we may perhaps share an opinion about some of these random unpleasantries. Perhaps not, but in no way is this some rant of negativity, just some viddles. To prove my sincerity, I've included a lovely photo of an immaculate beaver palace we happened across in the Boundary Waters to counter the daunting warning sign...
these things, these things...
sun-bloated roadkill, eggshells, when someone has to poop while I'm in the shower, CDs that skip sometimes, round eleven of the snooze button, having a grundy in public and nowhere to pick it, when a baby crys only in my arms, when you tell someone a story that you've already told them, tight ponytail headache, the failure of foil-wrapped gum after a week in the purse, unspeakables I create in the fridge, throwing away unspeakables from the fridge when the garbage is only 1/8 full, when dogs get snooty about affections, the discomfort of the silence after something not so funny, week old nalgene water, the way our butts hang over the seat of a swing, the scent and imminent doom of an unlocated mouse carcass, the taste of blood after flossing gone wrong, where my mind goes upon entering a stifling hot car, chunky milk, touching a baby bird in childhood and then learning it's mother will now reject it, when careless words I uttered are still resonating in my head 5 hours later, bad breath REALCLOSE, the discovery of a woodtick well dug-in, unnecessarily harsh private property signs, when your socks slide off your heel in snowboots, high expectation movies that let down way down, leering stares from strangers, courtesy laughing, when your armpits turn their teeth on you and you're out and about with no deodorant, the guilt you feel when you steal someone's saying, when checkout lane people don't say hi or blink, when it suddenly dawns on me that I'm talking incredibly LOUD, a fan blowing hair in your face when your trying to sleep, old journal entries that remind you of just what a geek you are, childhood myths you fell for like fish eggs in peanut butter, the stump remains of a forest you once knew, wondering if their's a bat-booger in the cave of your nose mid-dialogue, being near a static-y radio you can't shut off, someone else's fart, knocking over a glass of something with an unnecessary exaggerated arm movement, when I'm numb to newspaper atrocities, getting too close to a swamp in socks and shoes, grabbing for a towel and discovering only a wet stinky in reach, when you just want to get through some woods and every branch has it out for you, Mt. Vesuvius on my forehead, Wolske Bay summer algae splendor, porta-potty discoveries in the night, hearing about how Tom told Brady that they used to "brand" each other in grade school with a tack on the end of a pencil, and stuff.............
Think of the beaver palace. Little beaver friends...
So, I get a call this morning from Brady on our new trac phone (yay! first semi-slightly-emergencyish glad we have that phone time). He tells me to come to the Walmart parking lot where he's stranded because his motorcycle won't start. Upon arrival, he informs me that a policeman stopped by to check on him because he had received a phone call about a "suspicious looking man" that was creepishly circling his motorcycle around in the parking lot (the circling was actually an attempt to jumpstart the bike). So anywhays, he told Brady why he was there and Brady said, "well, I don't find anything particulary suspicious about a guy broken down in a parking lot by a gas station, but I guess that's just me." The cop did the customary run of plates and left sheepishly, looking quite embarassed. When I came, a "suspicious" looking lady that seemed nervous like, drove away in her car that had been parked at the gas station since Brady arrived. Hmmm. I know I'd be hunting for victims at 8am on my broken down motorcycle at Walmart for sure... By the way, you can only begin to fathom the difficult task of picking suspicious looking photos of Brady from the seemingly endless options...
