Firstly, let me apologize for my absence in posting. I kept having to like...do things and be responsible...like I was an adult or something. I had to go to the bank and get the side eye because I wanted to conduct my business with a real live person instead of on the Internets. I had to clean my house and manage my fantasy football team and watch my beloved Yellow Jackets fall on their faces. It was a tough job. But now here I am, ripe with a posty post for your viewing pleasure.
My brain doesn't work. Well, that's not really true. My brain works in the same way that a bear works as a dining table - if you can position it just so, get it to stay still, and not startle it with sudden movements, it will work well enough for what you're trying to do. Get one thing out of alignment, however, and now you're running through the woods eating pot roast on the run while your dining table tries to claw your face off. That is my brain, aside from the face-clawing bit.
This is what I imagine a normal brain looks like:
It's a good brain. It's not perfect - it's probably not helpful or healthy to have an entire brain segment devoted to Doritos. However, to balance that out, you've got several areas which focus on adulty responsible things - going to the bank, working, remembering to wear pants. All in all, it's a good control box for someone.
This is how I imagine my brain looks:
This. This is why I can't ever get anything done. I've got a little area responsible for keeping me adult and focused, but it is easily overwhelmed by thoughts of Batman and the Triple Option. One part of my brain exists just to remind me that I hate cats (though it apparently stopped working for a second and my husband snuck in a cat and now I'm just doomed. That thing is going to live to be the oldest cat in the world just out of spite). The worst part is that red spot in the front - the useless trivia. I am a beast at trivial pursuit. However, the consequence of this completely unnecessary skill is that the parts of my brain responsible for appropriate social interaction have been replaced, and also those which govern muscle control. My mom stopped being concerned that I hurt myself when I was like 9.
NOTE: Right here, as if just begging to make my point for me, is a like 30 minute break in post-writing. Stephani mentioned something about squirrels in wetsuits and sham-wows being sent to sop up the oil spill in the gulf, so of course I had to draw that right effing now.
That right there is why I can't be a fully functional adult. Squirrels in wet suits.
Now I don't even remember where I was going with the rest of this post....damn. But that is a sweet squirrel, am I right?
Oh, I do remember one thing I wanted to share. In the "things that make me feel like a champ but are actually meaningless" category...yesterday I was champion of the stairs. When I get off the train after work, I always take the stairs. If I go up the most flights out of the group of people who got on the stairs when I did, I am champion. Yesterday everyone else wussed out by level 4, but I went to level 5. 10 sets of stairs, bitches! I am champion of the stairs.
I'm going to stop this post now before it just makes too little sense to be deemed acceptable to the Internet.
UPDATE: I was champion of the stairs AGAIN today! Pretty soon I'm going to need a trophy or something.