So one day, I’m explaining my thought processes to my offspring on how I decided when something was or was not good for me to eat, and it ended up, in a matter of minutes, suddenly confessing some of my more mundane sins of drinking underage and pretending to be a foreign exchange student to get into a nude bar, also underage and how, knowing this, I understood that when Spawn’s inner devils finally tried to make a powerplay over their good decision making skills, all I asked was to call me to pick them up if they were drunk.
And never accept an open container of anything from anyone, even if you know them.
I managed to stop myself just before I got into the stories of when I DIDN’T do this and or start spouting off how many lovers I’d had in my lifetime, including the one sort of homosexual incident that did little but confirm what side of the fence I preferred.
I just sat there for a minute and asked myself “how the fuck did I get to this subject matter?”
Of course, when I started thinking backwards into it, it made complete sense.
Irresponsible drinking and ignoring state laws started because I was talking about being in Germany when I was a teen where as long as you can sit up over the bar table they don’t give a shit how old you are and I got on that because I found it ironic that 99% of my diet in Germany consisted of pork, starch and beer but for some reason I would still lose 20 lbs every time I went and I got on THAT because I was talking about low carb being kind of the magic bullet for diabetics since it would force the body to burns its own resources.
OK, yeah that makes TOTAL sense now!
I do this at work too, and it seems to keep my immediate co-workers are in a constant state of disbelief/confusion/awe/revulsion/laughter/irritation… I’m not entirely sure but they seem kind of caught off guard by it. Of course, I refrain some things at work, especially personal stuff, but usually everything else is diarrhea of the brain.
I could also wander tangents better than main roads of thinking as far back as I can recall. I hated A to B to C thinking, if I could cross over and hit Z in less steps, I was all for it. I’m the person with spare parts left after the “some assembly required” instructions have been tossed aside.
I suspect my brain just went “WHEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeEEEEEE…. never fucking organizing a coherent thought again, asshole!” when my teacher decided to spend a couple weeks teaching us “stream of consciousness writing” which meant everything that popped in your head had to go on paper. It spoke to me on a deep level. I suspect my papers actually got better because of it… after the 50th proofread by me and others, anyway.
I was always bad about missing key points or small facts that better supported my goal since I was trying to force a brain of chaos into a linear set of organized thoughts and flowing with the stream let that all come out alongside the “damn, my left buttcheek hurts on this fucking chair” and “I wonder if that skank smell is coming from the lunchroom or that guy a couple rows down.”
Of course, once you’re in college, flowing with the stream was epic in my creative writing classes. My weird tangents seemed to amuse my professors to no end, at least those who didn’t have a stick up their ass.
I had to write a book report on William Burrough’s Naked Lunch. I titled it Losing My Lunch. Did you know that Peter Weller actually starred in the fucking movie? It’s just as shitty as the book. So I guess that means they did a good job? Yeah, RoboCop and the guy from Leviathan! That guy! I hated it, and I rambled on in detail. Got an A.
Of course, now I’m sure an entire crew of former english instructors would go apeshit if they saw my minimal use of commas, semicolons, colons and overuse of periods today.
In the mix of my random tangents, seems to be what my co-workers refer to as my own little idiosyncrasies. I can’t remember cliches and generally just don’t care for them. These two facts could influence one another.
Instead of saying… well fuck, I can’t remember. I was going for an example that I seem to say similar involving a guitar, but now I can’t remember the cliche or my own rendition.
The only thing I can remember saying recently is one guy came through our office and just seemed in a shitty mood and hell bent on taking it out on everyone in there. When he finally left, I remarked, “wow, wonder if he stuck his tampon in the wrong hole.”
This is normal for me, and I was moving through my thought process to ask my boss a question, but since they seemed physically incapable of inhaling it took me a good several minutes of waiting before I could finally proceed with my question, but not before hearing:
“Where the hell do you come up with this stuff?!?!?!”
“Um, I blame the ADHD toddler on crack that lives in my head. He’s a real pain in my ass.”