I’m done trying to figure out what’s going on. With anything. With everything! It all seems so subjective. I’m going to go with the flow and let the chips fall where they may. I don’t think I can trust myself anymore—my perception is all askew. I dropped a French fry a few minutes ago. It was covered in special sauce and it plopped onto the armrest of the chair I was sitting in, splattering special bits all over the place. I immediately thought “oh my God, this is how the rest of my day is going to go, nothing is going to work out.” Then I was like “wait, it could have landed on this dress and then I would have to actually launder my clothes after wearing them. This is a miracle. I can do anything today.”
I have to stop. Because it doesn’t mean anything. Nothing means anything. Nothing. I think I just became a nihilist with terrible grammar. Know what else doesn’t mean anything? My handwriting.
A few weeks ago I was brushing my teeth when I was suddenly hit by a wave of inspiration. I rushed to my notebook and—with a mouthful of burning froth—scrawled my epiphany onto the page. My brain was orgasming in blissful rapture—I just can’t remember why. I’d either come up with the point of my existence, the theme of my book, or a strategy to catapult me into mega stardom. The next day I pulled the note out, ready for enlightenment, and realized I couldn’t read my own handwriting. As with all my personal problems, I took it to Facebook and Twitter and asked for you guys’ help. I’m pretty sure none of these guesses are right but I kind of wish they were:
“Death them”
“Deatheater?” (Williesha Morris)
“Diazepam? Good stuff. I understand why you’d write about it.” (Love Morning Wood)
“Diptheria.” (KS Thompson)
“Daddy Issues.” (Don Re)
“Dandelions. Maybe you were craving homemade wine.”
“Dead things… normally the honeymoon phase lasts a bit longer, but you know—whatever.” (Jenni Chiu)
“Dastardly—someone is planning mischief.” (Jana Kendall)
“That’s not an English word, it’s an ancient forgotten language… you’re a wizard.”
“It says something about Dysentery. Do you have dysentery? Drink fluids.” (Beth Teliho)
“Dildo theory.”
Everyone asked for context but I shied away from that because it made me feel vulnerable. It looks like the words right before are “As a woman” and after is “revolutionize.” What if it was something like “As a woman my dildo theory will revolutionize the world” or “As a woman it is dastardly to revolutionize?”
Reading over these suggestions, I feel like I don’t even need to remember my original thought. I’m struck by a new inspiration. Don’t doubt me, just because I have daddy issues. It’s not as dastardly as diphtheria or dysentery and I’ve already faced all sorts of dead things. Life’s not all dandelions, you know? You can’t hide behind diazepam like a death eater, screeching “death them!” Trust me, I’m a wizard and true practitioner of Dildo Theory.
When do your most genius ideas tend to come to you? Can you read my handwriting? What’s YOUR dildo theory?
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I currently have no dildo theory. I will have to develop one. No I cannot read your handwriting, but I can rarely read mine, either. My inspiration is a dick and strikes when I am not prepared. Then I forget…
You and me both, Michelle! We have to catch up about our various, um, creative pursuits (and ensuing madness and panic).
“My inspiration is a dick and strikes when I am not prepared.”
? … Your inspiration randomly sexes you up?
My dildo theory is that no matter where you hide the damn thing, one of the kids will find it and bring it down stairs just as guests arrive. And it will probably be the big, black one that spins in circles and sounds like it’s ready for lift off. Ha! As far as the hand writing… I got nothing. I devoted ten minutes to staring at it and …nothing. My most genius ideas always occur while driving. I’m a professional knee-driver at this point and the notes I write while driving (don’t judge!) usually come out looking like your chicken scratch…which is probably why the book in my head will never actually get written. 😉
Ahhh hahahaha! Have you blogged about the kids finding your dildo??? That is h i l a r i o u s I kind of can’t handle it. Amazing.
I became a pretty legit napkin scribbler while driving home from the airport after BlogHer. I didn’t want to touch my phone while driving, so I scribbled all over a Starbucks napkin with a sharpie. Totally safe.
I have never blogged about it but I did write about it in the journal I keep for my daughter. I can’t wait to see her disgusted face the day she reads about it! lol…and that is how you parent! 😉
It happened to Cimmy and I. Don’t need to blog about it because she, me, and probably our daughter remember ALL about it.
But it was a vibrator. And bright jelly pink. And we found out because his caregiver told us he was messing with it. Maybe she was embarrassed, but I think Cimmy and I collectively shrugged.
I would read a book on dildo theory.
Jealous that you had a pen nearby when you had an inspiration. My ideas are all stuck in my head because I was certain I would remember.
Next time print.
I don’t know why I let myself use cursive. It’s horrifying looking. I can’t keep consistent handwriting from one line to the next. I think that’s a sign of mental illness? I mean, it should be. Obviously.
i think it says ‘going fishing.’ which kind of goes right along with dildo theory.
I almost just spit out my tea at that.
What’s a dildo?
Oh Sandy……… you realize I’m going to have to spam you with dildo stuff now, right?
I have to go with dildo theory because right above it are the letters g i n a so obviously you were talking about dildoes in your vagina and that means you are still preoccupied with your honeymoon, which in turn leads me to believe you need to grab Alex right now for some serious alone time.
My handwriting has gotten so bad, I only use notepad on my phone, iPad or computer. I would guess didactic, but I don’t know what that means.
Didactic sounds like a really good guess!
di·dac·tic
dīˈdaktik/
adjective
adjective: didactic
intended to teach, particularly in having moral instruction as an ulterior motive.
“a didactic novel that set out to expose social injustice”
synonyms: instructive, instructional, educational, educative, informative, informational, edifying, improving, preceptive, pedagogic, moralistic
“the reforming, didactic function of art”
in the manner of a teacher, particularly so as to treat someone in a patronizing way.
“slow-paced, didactic lecturing”
hahhahaha I can’t believe you didn’t figure it out! This is great.
Hmmm, I think the last word is “dental” something. Which makes sense given your inspiration came while brushing your teeth. You know I have to confess that I don’t have a dildo theory either. Oh, and I believe that the large majority of what happens on a minute by minute basis really is random and has no meaning. We just grow as we deal with it. There are bigger fish that do have meaning – like how we treat others, kindness, integrity, etc.
First of all, I love your writing, great wit and sense of humor, you made me chuckle a few times. Second, I have horrible handwriting and often make notes to myself in my notebook, my nearly constant companion. I have definitely had this happen, can’t read it, no memory of the great thought I just had. I chalk it up to the Universe telling me it was an idea that the world isn’t ready for. Make sure you write neater from now on so we don’t miss any fantastic ideas. 🙂
I got nothing….which isn’t surprising. 😉
I have had this exact same thing happen–and my writing is like a doctor’s–if the doctor was somnambulant. So, I get it.
As a woman with horrible handwriting, you should become a doctor.
Ok this is most awesome. Best guess: “Dark Zerj”. And I have no idea – you’re the mad genius behind the words.
When does inspiration strike? Normally it’s whenever there is no way to even txt myself but most often it’s as soon as I put my head down on the pillow. Right after smoking a J… Definitely after I’ve gone all the way downstairs to kidnap a cuddly throw-pillow. And most certainly after I’ve had to listen to my fake I’m-so-cool-with-it husband give me shit about smoking too much loco-weed. Funny how he’s all like “I’ll smoke it if you got it” until I’ve actually got it…. and there’s my new blog post!
Thanks, Aussa! 😉
I’m surprised you didn’t opt to study medicine.
No, I can’t read it. My guess is daughtery. I’m sad, because I’m a trained teacher and like to think I can read anything, but daughtery isn’t a word.
I’m pretty sure it says “didn’t they” but I like Dildo Theory more and I will be doubly sure to make it to BlogU next year if you can convince them you should teach a seminar on it.
Your blog won’t let me comment any more.
Oh, but it just did. Just not the real comment I wrote about your actual post. Maybe it was too long?
I tried breaking it into smaller parts and posting it, no luck. Anyway, I can’t decipher your handwriting, but have an LSD related story I would tell you if I could…
Jshah
OK, I’m sorry for complaining and teasing you like that, but I think I’ve figured this out. Here goes:
Robert had long, straight, brown hair and a full beard (I first met him playing guitar at a toga party; he looked like Jesus Christ playing slide on a black Les Paul with a mayonnaise jar) and he told me a story about writing things down while high on LSD. He said you know how you have those ideas that make you laugh so hard and long that your sides hurt the next day, but you can never remember what they were? Well, we decided to write them down one night so we could remember what they were. So we did. Then the next day, we were excited as we opened up the notebook to read what we had written, only to discover the phrase “bananas, bananas, bananas” over and over on the page.
I discovered what looked like a (mutant) dildo in the toy section at the dollar store last week. Sara said it was probably a toy hammer (when she stopped laughing enough to speak) and picked one up and hit me with it. It made little tinkling noises, and sparkly LEDs lit up in the “head” (read that “balls”) of the hammer…
BANANA BANANA BANANA BANANA BANANA BANANA BANANA BANANA BANANA BANANA BANANA BANANA BANANA BANANA BANANA BANANA BANANA BANANA BANANA BANANA BANANA BANANA BANANA BANANA BANANA BANANA BANANA BANANA BANANA BANANA
Okay, I couldn’t help that. And! You’ve reminded me that I took a photo of something very dildo-ish a few months ago at some sort of boat race. I think it even shot water. I was amazed. Must locate.
This happens ALL the time! I can’t remember anything, I can’t read anything. UGH! I think it reads….are you ready?
DR. Dishwasher. You’re welcome.
Dr. Dishwasher? Hahaha! In a way…. this actually makes a lot of sense to me…
My dildo theory: Like a dildo, life is long and hard and sometimes seems to go round and round. But if you relax, get into it, and the batteries don’t wear out too soon, life can bring heart pounding excitement, toe-tingling anticipation, and breath-taking fulfillment! Whew! I think I need a cigarette.
This is the best comment I’ve read in a long time, Jana. I kind of can’t handle it.
Just laughing. Hilarious. All I know for sure is that with writing like that you can write your own prescriptions. That is Dr’s scratch if I ever saw it. LOL.
Looks like I missed my calling in life, John! No, no, that’s not true. Being a doctor actually sounds like the absolute last thing I would ever want to do with myself.
Intruiging… Will you let us know when you’ve decoded this?
I fear this may be the sort of mystery that goes unsolved… like JFK and Tupac.
You had me at dildo. 😉 I hopped over from Rubber Shoes. This is a brilliant play on words, Aussa! I’ve had similar problem of epiphanies at inconvenient moments. I also can’t read my own handwriting (after a bottle of wine) when I decide to write late at night.
Aw, I love Michelle at Rubber Shoes 🙂 And oh man… the post-bottle-of-wine handwriting is the WORST. That will have to be it’s own future post…
I want you to write about true Dildo Theory. lol. Love it when we are so tired we have these great epiphanies but can’t figure them out later… even when they came from our own brains…
Our brains are ridiculous! I’m not sure I can even trust mine. Of course… maybe I don’t mean brain. Maybe I mean mind? DEFINITELY can’t trust that thing.
Testing. WP Jetpack does not like me right now, probably because of privacy/security tools I have installed on Firefox.
UGH my site gets weird sometimes. And there was server stuff happening last night.
I did see it was happening to others, so I don’t feel too bad.
Feel free to contact me if you need tech support. I seem to do this a lot– had to pare someone’s blog down to HTML to find out they had a widget that redirected things to another site. Y’know, greedy spammer parasites and all that.
Jetpack seems to have eaten my long-ish comment about dildo theory– the story you were eager to know more about, as I had alluded to, but…
no. The Internet Powers That Be seem to have decided that it will not go through.
Hmm. Summary? Gay phone sex line + Cimmy + dildo = jak turning the tables on the operator LIKE A BOSS. (He had to be at least bisexual, because he was INTERESTED in my descriptions of what was going on.)