Phrembah (a potato-like mystery) (phrembah) wrote,
Phrembah (a potato-like mystery)

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D Day: That's enough.

Squalor Index: An incredibly low 6.4!

We would like to thank the men and women of Operation Seem Human, few though they be, for their bravery, their dedication and their personal sacrifice in turning this dump into a home on such short notice! (applause)

Had a Tony Robbins moment in the Wal-Mart this morning. All my adult life I have been using the same hideous silverware my mom bought me when I moved out of my parents house when I was eighteen (To their dismay, this was the first time I would move out, not the only time).  You don’t need a powerful mind to bend the spoons in this set; they bend all by themselves. Every time I have people over to eat,  I SWEAR I will get new silverware before it happens again. Then I close the door behind them and silverware returns immediately to its rightful place on my priority list: 87,454 from the top. Well, this morning, while shopping for a pumice stone with which to disencrust the toilet, I wheeled my cart inadvertently right down the middle of the tableware aisle. There, I first noticed some medium quality Libby wine glasses and said to myself, "You know, if you have any wine glasses at all, you don’t know how many there are or even where they are." So I grabbed a few of those. Then I saw the flatware. I immediately thought to myself, "You know, you need to get some new silverware someday. Too bad you didn’t think of it in time for the book group today." I nearly left the tableware aisle when something hit me like a blinding flash: "What EXACTLY are you waiting for? What signs should we be watching for? What ARE the conditions under which you will finally replace your ratty silverware. Let’s get them defined, listed, prioritized and start ticking them OFF; 1, 2, 3!" Or something like that. It occurred to me that I could take new, medium quality, Wal-Mart silverware home with me today. Now. And use it tonight. Through the miracle of consumer credit I could be living the life I’ve always deserved in a few short hours. Wow.

OK. I’m bored. Tomorrow this journal becomes the compelling chronicle it was meant to be. Something along the lines of the letters and diaries of Edith Warner or Maura O’Halloran.

Uh, huh.
Tags: brain fart, compelling chronicle

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