Thing Is . . .

The thing is sometimes I have something to say and sometimes I don't.  That doesn't mean that when I don't have something to say that I don't say something just that I shouldn't open my mouth.  I get struck by things or feel insightful about a situation and it bubbles out.  Other times I sit slack-jawed, a thin string of drool hanging from my lip.  I don't know.

Ponder the moment.

When I was sick I was taking an aspirin and an Advil a few times a day because I felt so crappy. At some point I walked by a little bright orange aspirin and a little shit-brown Advil lying on a bookshelf next to our mantel clock, which is on a bookshelf for some reason, not the mantel.  I haven't looked at the mantel recently - maybe it's piled with books.  I don't know whether I had in mind to ingest this medicine and got distracted by some bright, shiny thing, forgetting about the intention completely, or whether I knew I had lost them relatively quickly, searched unsuccessfully for a bit, then replaced them with two of their brethren which I did successfully ingest.  They're staying put - it's what passes for art in my household.