Life's a card game

It's interesting to note how people deteriorate as they get older.  Sometimes their bodies fall apart; sometimes it's the mind.   If I had a choice, I think I'd pick hanging on to my brain.  If you loose your mind, what difference does it make if you have a body?  Even with a sick body you can still think.  You can take drugs for whatever ails you and still read, talk to friends, or just lie there and let you imagination take you anywhere you want to go. 

Unfortunately, due to the curse of genetics, I don't get a choice.  A few of my neurons are up there, floating about, not connecting to anything.  I picture them swimming around in grey matter looking for a sand bar to attach themselves to.  But I'm doing so much better since I've been on medication, something I'm not planning on going off of, ever.  My doctor told me I'd end up in an Alzheimer's ward if I did.  That may or may not be true, but I'm not planning on taking the chance.  I may be half crazy, but I'm not stupid.

My sister, Heather, is the opposite of me.  Not just in looks--She inherited the Irish genes, I got the Swedish ones--but she also got the good brain with the not-so-healthy body.  She has Fibromyalgia, which keeps her in physical pain and fatigue a lot, along with a host of other maladies.  But people look at her and can't believe she's sick.  She's perky and cute and has big boobs.  Real ones.  But that's like all of us, right?  Not the boobs, of course, but we get good things along with bad.  It's like God is the dealer in a big card game.  He deals the hands.  We get some good cards, some bad.  If we're smart, we don't get mad and throw our cards on the table.  We just play the hand we're dealt.     

Quirks and Underware

Sometimes I think we're all a little bit crazy.  At the very least, we all have our quirks.  I used to have to go to the door knob and touch it about five times to make sure it was locked.  I got over that, but still double checked it, without actually touching it.  That's not neurotic, it's sensible--expecially since I found it unlocked one time.  Now, of course, I live in a hotel, and the door usually locks behind me.  That's fine, except when it does lock and I've run out without my key card.

My sister Heather is fairly normal.  I say fairly because she's extra tidy and lines up her vitamins alphabetically, like they do in drug stores.  I looked in her dresser once.  All her bras and undies were folded neatly and lined up by color.  Can you believe that?  The insides of my dresser dawers are a mess.  But outside, everything usually looks good.  Kind of like how I am in real life:  Put together on the outside.  Messed up on the inside. 

So, does our underware tell stories about us?

A Song in my Head

I hear music in my head.  It's like I have another channel going all the time.  It's especially noticeable when I first wake up.  But if I stop whatever I'm doing, whatever I'm thinking, I can hear music.  Right now I have a lot of James Blunt going, but it varies.  People tell me I hum a lot.  It's mostly mindless tunes, but sometimes it's a melody from Mozart.  I hum when I do ordinary things around my apartment--making someone a drink, fixing a sandwich, folding clothes--things that don't require any heavy-duty thinking. 

I know this happens to other people; but it's not the kind of thing you go up to someone and say, "Hey, do you hear music in your head?"  I get enough funny looks as it is without bring that up.  But I also know this type of brain activity is not going on in the average brain.  In a way, it's kind of fun.  You never know what song will be playing when you first wake up.  Kind of like turning on the radio.  But other times, it's downright annoying, especially if the song is one I don't particularly care for.  In that case, I change the channel by deliberately playing another tune up there or listening to a CD.

At any rate, it beats boredom.