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Day #285: Triangles or Squares?

The Story:

It felt a little awkward at first… like getting on a bike after a 20 year hiatus.

I picked up the knife; it felt heavy in my hand. The weight of it sent a little tingle up my spine.

What if my tastes had changed? What if I didn’t like it anymore?

I felt the familiar curl of hunger in my abdomen and knew I had to act, and fast. Otherwise, things could get messy.

I felt like a kid again, only this time there was no grown up to manage my actions… or my true desires.

I started small at first; to be honest my giddiness to dig my knife in was a little frightening… better to pace yourself, I thought.

My self-control only lasted a few seconds. Before I knew it the walls, countertops and my clothes were peppered with splatterings of deep crimson, like exotic blooms erupting into angry existence.

What had I done?

Not wishing to be discovered as the orchestrator of this terrible mess, I quickly covered the evidence with the first thing I could lay a hand on.

Now what?

Picking up the knife once again I tried to resist the urge to cut.

“Down the middle or at an angle?” My twisted mind would not give way and eventually… I succumbed.

Having sliced down the middle, I created two where there had been only one.

I needed to get rid of it… hide the evidence somehow.

So I ate it.

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The Not So Fantastic Reality:

The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:

ONE:      Ever perform a relatively rudimentary task and suddenly think, “I can’t remember the last time I did this”? I had one of those moments today as I was preparing my lunch, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I can honestly say that I cannot remember the last time I made and ate a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I know my mom used to make me cream cheese and jelly sandwiches all the time as a little girl (yeah, I was a strange kid) and I was a master at preparing a peanut butter and banana sandwich in my college days (toasted, of course) but a peanut butter and jelly? Nope… can’t remember consuming one of those in the last 10+ years. Well, I am happy to report I was able to successfully craft this culinary cornerstone of Americana with generally positive results. Never mind the globs of jelly left behind it its wake… necessary casualties for the ‘greater good’ of sandwich assembly, I say.

Love & Squirrels.

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Day #155: Cleaning Up Ants

The Story:

“You’ve had some bizarre ideas before, but this one takes the cake,” Kelly shook her head in disbelief as she looked at her sister crawling around on the kitchen floor. “You better cut it out, mom is going to be back any minute and she is going to flip her wig if she sees what you’ve done,” Kelly continued to the hunched back of her kid sister- who was obviously not paying her any attention. “Dezi! Are you even listening to me?” Kelly yelled after a few more unresponsive moments passed between sisters- mom really was going to lose it if she saw her usually pristine kitchen in its current state.

Kelly looked around the kitchen and decided she had better come up with a good reason for why she had allowed Dezi, four years her junior and her responsibility while their parents were out, to destroy their mothers’ most prized room in the house. As if she had any control over what Dezi would pull- she could strap the kid down, duct tape her to the ceiling and Dezi would still find a way to destroy something with one of her ‘experiments’. Two weeks ago Dezi had managed to ruin their parent’s printer/scanner by attempting scan and print her collection of dead spiders, frogs and lizards. Just two days ago the washer fell victim to “Doctor Dezi” as Kelly often referred to her 8 year old sister. This time Dezi tried to melt a years’ worth of gummy bears into one big gummy… Kelly was still picking off sticky bear appendages from the load of socks she had thrown into the mix not knowing there was a tub full of gelatinous candy already soaking.

You mean they don't make these in a washer? Lame.

And now, perhaps her most outlandish project was crawling all over their mother’s kitchen. Somehow, Dexi had convinced herself that ants were trainable and would be the perfect little cleaners. In Dezi’s mind, all she had to do was get enough of them and figure out how they could be trained to pick up little pieces of dirt and particles of fallen food and then take it outside. How hard could that be? So, after spending several days collecting sugar ants from around the back yard, Dezi had released them in the kitchen- on the floor, in the drawers, on the counters, even in the microwave and toaster. She had failed to think about how to gather them all up should the experiment not work- failure never seemed to cross Dezi’s mind, even after the fact.

“Kelly, can you stay in here for a sec? I gotta go potty,” Dezi finally said and stood up from her crouching position over a group of ants in the coffee pot. Before Kelly had a chance to respond, Dezi was already zooming past her and towards the bathroom.

“Kids! We’re back!” Kelly heard her mother’s voice from the hallway followed by a door shutting. “Kelly! What in God’s name happened in here!” her mother screamed as her eyes darted around the kitchen, from one ant pile to another.

Kelly just sighed. “Typical,” she mumbled under her breath as her parents lit into her.

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The Not So Fantastic Reality:

The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:

ONE:      Disclaimer: I am kind of a slob. Not the dirty kind where there are half-eaten French fries and an unidentifiable patina of crud on everything… more like charmingly messy. Unfortunately, when you combine one charminglymessy gal (that would be me) with say, a charmingly messy live-in boyfriend (that would be Andy) things can get a bit… well, uncharming. Usually when the house gets to a certain point, the boy and I conduct a whirlwind cleaning day, about once a week or so… This entails us tearing through the house and just generally tidying up, vacuuming, mopping, doing the dishes, you know the fun stuff (ha!). Then…  we let things accumulate until the next cleaning cycle. Yeah, I hear you. I know, it’s easier to just pick up after yourself as you go, but that theory somehow hasn’t penetrated into my squishy brain. Well, today I came home and I just couldn’t take the clutter a minute more. Andy was planning on cleaning Friday, which I am usually more than happy to let him do, but today I arrived home to find a conga line of ants marching in from the back door and into the kitchen. Nuh uh, momma ain’t havin that! I immediately went into ‘battle mode’ for Operation: The Ants Must Die in Lemony Freshness. Two hours later, the ants are gone, the floors are spotless, the kitchen is sparkling and the aromatherapy candles are lit. Ahhh… cleaning can be pretty therapeutic sometimes. Sometimes. For all those other times, I’m seriously wondering if there is a way I can get those ants can do some of the work for me, put little Swiffer’s on their feet or set them to work on the crumbs in the crack between the stove and the countertop. A girl can dream.

My new favorite motto...

Love & Squirrels.