Before you begin reading this, let me warn you that it will likely be an utter waste of your time and brain function. If you’ve used too many drugs in your past and don’t have the brain cells to spare, save those critters for something truly important, like watching cat videos on youtube or something. If you don’t care about your brain cells and you’re in the midst of a procrastination marathon (as I frequently am), then please continue.
Here’s how my brain works when I’m sick and mentally exhausted from taking care of a four year-old who is also sick:
I posted this status update on Facebook: “I have used nearly an entire box of 160 2-ply Kleenex tissues for my snotty nose today. Imagine moldy ass that has been stuffed into a WalMart bag tainted with old fish juices and then crammed into a garbage bag that rips open once dumped into a mountain of rubbish, which sends the ripe fish-juice mold ass cascading into green toenail clippings, diarrheal baby diapers, purulent bandages, and cockroaches, both live and deceased. This is how my face feels, and probably looks like, at this moment. In case any of you are interested.” (I should note that no one was, in fact, interested. Although, someone did ask where the “ewwww” button was, to which I replied that it was covered in snot.)
After I posted the moldy ass bit on FB, I slurped down some chicken noodle soup. Technically, it was the dry packaged chicken broth with skinny mini-noodles– the kind you make on the stove-top with water– and it was expired, but I didn’t give a crap. I fed Maya real food so I didn’t really care if I became ill from bad soup. I was already sick. What else could go wrong with my jacked-up intestinal and respiratory system? So, I’m sucking down the expired soup that, quite frankly, tasted just fine since I couldn’t taste anything anyway and I started to imagine that I was having a conversation with Mindy Kaling. Why Mindy? Because she’s the shit, that’s why. Sometimes I channel my inner Tina Fey and ask WWBPD? (What would bossypants do?) Yesterday, Mindy was my inner voice. In my daydream conversation (which takes place in my head and not aloud, I should add), we were arguing about scene dialogue. The main character was ill and I wrote for her to say:
I feel like moldy ass.
Mindy said that I’ve used that line before and there are other adjectives begging to be used and abused so I should at least pretend to be slightly creative, to which I replied that it didn’t matter, that moldy ass was an accurate depiction of how the mc felt and moldy ass never goes out of style. Things smell like moldy ass, things look like moldy ass, and situations feel like moldy ass. “Moldy ass” can and always can be an appropriate response to the myriad questions and issues life springs on you.
She crossed her arms and shook her head “no” and then looked at me like I was a complete moron. (If you’ve ever seen her in a show, you know the look.)
I made obnoxious slurping noises with the copious amounts of msg and nodded. “Yeah. It’s moldy ass.”
This went back and forth for a minute or two.
“LIFE IS NOT ALWAYS LIKE MOLDY ASS.” I sighed. Was Mindy right? I looked over at my half of the mini chocolate mousse cake my mom dropped off for us (meaning me and Maya, not me and my inner Mindy). Maya gobbled her half and then freaked out from a sugar high, while my half posed seductively under saran-wrap. It was mouth-watering chocolaty goodness, not moldy ass; however, I couldn’t eat it because I couldn’t (and still can’t) taste a thing, which sucked like moldy ass.
And that’s it. There isn’t a lesson here really, other than “Life is not always like moldy ass.” Or maybe it’s my inner creative self chastising me for being lazy lately. I think it’s both.
I am curious though: do any of you fellow writers/readers/daydreamers have “conversations” of sorts with your idols? And not just when you’re ill? Because there are times when I think twice about doing something, not because it would cause harm to anyone, but because someone might think I’m an odd duck or whatever (like writing about the aforementioned Mindy conversation), and then my inner Mindy gives me the look that says: REALLY. You think you’ve ever been normal? Having that inner idol to push me to write is necessary when all I want to do is sit on my butt, eat a bag of Cheetos Cheezy Salsa Mix-ups (aka: crack), and watch Property Brothers reruns. (Oh, no! Will they get the shack they want? Will they ever agree to stick to their budget? They found knob-and-tube wiring! Shocker! Will Jonathan and his crew complete the renovation on time? It’s a nail-biter folks…)*
Or do I just have an overactive imagination that happens to serve me well when I need a kick in the ass?
*Predictable show, but I still like to see the renovation and design. Income Property is my favorite, though. Maya’s, too.