Friday

Today I saw a guy riding a bike carrying a rake, and because my brain is really racing lately, I flooded this sight of this guy on a bike with a rake...I flooded it with all of this mental activity. My first unfortunate reaction was to make fun of him... like he was a superhero..."Look! It's Rake Man! And he's going to save the day, raking leaves at the house of some unfortunate elderly woman. I think my brain just felt the need to analyze and emote... something... anything... intensely. Plus, when I first caught a glimpse of him, it looked like he was riding the rake... like he was a witch... man witches ride on rakes instead of brooms.

Then I felt guilty... for making fun of him.

Then I felt sorry for him. He's just trying to get somewhere to earn some cash. People don't ride bikes to work in Florida unless they do not have a car. Everything is too spread out.

The guy waved to another guy who is on a bike across the street. For some reason, my brain made an association, and I looked to see if that other guy was also carrying some kind of tool. Like maybe these two guys were going to go meet on a job. But the other guy wasn't carrying anything.

Today should be a productive day at work, if I can focus all of this mental activity on something productive that is.

A recent conversation reminded me of my mom and my mom's room. My mom had her own room, separate from my dad. My mom hoarded mail and magazines. There would be stacks of mail and magazines everywhere. Her bed would be covered with opened letters and letters she was in the process of writing. She loved to have candles burning too. It drove us crazy with worry, the fire risk.

She was interested in so many issues, and she was always writing to congressmen and to organizations and to all kinds of advocates. She got herself on many mailing lists and newsletter subscriptions. My mom's internet was all paper. She never got on a computer, she distrusted them (she hated TV too).

After I was old enough to drive, she would often send me out the door with hands full of responses she had written to all of these organizations and officials. Sometimes I would forget to mail them, or I would get lazy about it. Then, we would decide to go somewhere, to eat or something, and she the letters still in the car, and she ...would be a little disappointed. We would drive straight to a mailbox (this was back when it was actually easy to find a mailbox somewhere).

My mom had beautiful handwriting. I love it when I find something she had written among the stuff from the old house. I actually have a bag full of correspondence that my mom and her sister were sending back and forth. I've never opened it though. My mom and her sister were in a major feud for years and years...too many years...and I'm not sure what is being written about in those letters.

Thursday

The humans continue to confuse me.

Saturday

Proof that I'm Not Crazy (almost)



I used to hear bagpipe music at lunch time somewhere in the neighborhood around work. This is the kind of thing that could make somebody wonder whether they're going crazy. I don't really care whether I'm crazy or not. But, when I finally actually saw this person playing bagpipes, it kind of solidified my sense of reality. And it's pretty cool other than that too. Too bad I didn't get a closer shot. She really is there, playing the bagpipe, I swear!