I purposely laid off blogging for the time being so I can focus on the Camino. It’s been four days and I’m only on page 45 of “To The Field Of Stars” by Kevin A. Codd. I like it, it’s a great book, but I get easily distracted.
I get distracted by playing spider solitaire and watching documentaries on Netflix. That’s what I’m doing right now, well, before I started blogging that is.
It was my Pop’s birthday a few days ago, so me and my fam all went out to eat at the new Mongolian restaurant that replaced our beloved Buffet 2000 on Queen street in Southington. This is where I first learned about idcapthat.
My 13-year-old niece has an app on her phone that automatically adds captions to pictures. She had taken a picture of her Nana’s big smiling face with a caption underneath that reads: My favorite popsicle is Dick.
She showed the pic to her father who burst out laughing hysterically.
My bro – “That’s not right. That’s just not right. Something is majorly wrong with you.”
Me – “What? What is it?”
Me – “Oh good lord Alexis!”
Alexis – “Should I show Poppy?”
Me – “NO!”
My bro – “No, don’t show Poppy.”
And what does she do? She show’s my dad anyway. He could only shake his head and laugh.
Here are two other pic’s that made our little table in the quiet restaurant cry in laughter:
My mom was serenely enjoying her morning banana…
My family members are a bunch of redneck indecent weirdo’s. I love them.
My blog juices are starting to flow big time. Where does it all come from? Why the hell can’t I stop? If only I can step away and actually read more instead of write, then maybe I can get better at it. If only I took the time to read books or other blogs, I can improve drastically.
Let’s make this a short post Mel. It’s late anyway.
I have an unnatural love for Australian style hats. I adore them! But they are unacceptable where I come from. Here in the northeast, it’s not natural to wear them under any circumstances. Stupid Connecticut. I’m sure other countries would scoff at them too – not just the uppity’s here in the states.
But this is just another demonstration of how free we are not. What we wear matters. It matters to anyone with two eyes and living in a populated consumer driven culture. I hate this, I really do. I hate it that I can’t even wear a stupid hat because it’s not considered fashionable.
If I were to wear it, people would think I’m crazy or really eccentric. Maybe an attention whore even. That’s how messed up our society is. I wear a hat and I’m labeled a reject. Anybody different is deemed wrong, or offensive.
But this is who I am. I whole-heartedly put myself out there, all my vulnerabilities, all my weaknesses and hurts – I lay it all out like smoothing the wrinkles out of an old road map. I unfold myself and stare hunched over a desk (or in this case, laying in bed), I stare at this mess of lines connecting one fate to the next. I stare and I don’t know what I’m looking at.
It’s just a hat Melanie! Really? Come on now, road map over a hat?
Give me a topic, any topic. I’ll write the shit out of it. It doesn’t even have to make sense.
I see the plain truth to the world, and it weakens my heart. There are so few people out there who just don’t give a fuck – I want to meet those others! How freaking cool would that be! Well, they give a fuck about the important things. Things that matter. A persons hat choice should not matter!
Everyone’s scared to be individuals. How am I the only one who see’s this? Screw queer eye for the straight guy. Those fashionably expensive clothes are made by little cut up fingers under the pounding needle of a sewing machine for under 20 cents an hour. And that’s the irrefutable truth!
People hide their shame with nice clothes and with buying new cars, big houses and earning fat paychecks, paying for trophy spouses. I wear my shame like a proud badge of honer. No, I’m not perfect despite popular belief but guess what? I don’t give a fuck.
Free the world of ridicule and liberate my hat!
Sad lonely women wear wedding dresses in the secrecy of their homes. Staring longingly into a full length mirror and into their unrealized dreams of being loved for life.
While I on the other hand, write a bunch of shit that anyone can read, beat my fists against this inhuman cage we call reality and of course, wear my hat and backpack and stare longingly into my mirror with the unrealized dreams of understanding the world and myself. I’m already loved for life, so screw that crap.
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