My pettest peeve is the silverware drawer. OMG how hard is it to put silverware in its own slot in the drawer insert obviously designed to do just that? I can't tell you how many times I have had to rearrange that drawer because a dinner fork and a salad fork are not interchangeable any more than soup spoon and a teaspoon are. Finally . . . after many years of attempting to explain to all the misguided souls who believe a fork is a fork in any slot . . . I solved it for me. One day I took out the insert and just dumped the dishwasher basket. What I found to my surprise was, it's so much easier. In my effort to holler, "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em," from my own intellectual or organizational superiority, I found my own reality. When people remark about it, I tell them it saves so much time. If my dishwasher was clean, I'd demonstrate. Peace to the pieces . . .
There are moments, sometimes hours, as has been the case today, when birds talk to me. That sounds so spiritual, so Zen. It’s not what you might be thinking. Today, 6:06 a.m., “cheater, cheater, cheater.” It stays until another bird overpowers the sound with “Judy, Judy, Judy”, then, “save a seat, save a seat, save a seat.” It is maddening and I cannot stop it. Well, I can stop it if the docs would give me my preferred prescription**. That’ll stop everything. The only thing past drugs that will stop this now is listening. The birds are actually answering my questions. I know that sounds ridiculous and it’s not. My mind flies pictures in between their calls. Now they are saying, “hello, hello, hello”. ** Read this with a pronounced Southern Accent: |
About Janet:Janet DeLong, PhD, is a philosophical writer. She'd tell you that is by default, we know it's by design. While her perceptions are not always comfortable, they are always Categories
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