Chello, dear friends!
As I write this, the sun is peeking out from behind some rather ominous looking snow clouds. I hear that we're supposed to get a few more inches of the white stuff this afternoon, followed by yet another several inches this weekend.
(How happy am I that I have a personality that remains perfectly content to stay inside Chez Spinster with nothing but chicken stew and stitching for company?)
(Oh, and maybe You Know Who Too).
So I've been thinking a lot about this whole "Life of the Mind" crap that Stewey has been trying to get me to embrace. How the hell I ended up with such a fussy little fusspot intellectual companion is beyond me, especially when you consider the fact that I've never really been smart enough to get out of my own way.
I was never one of the smart kids in school. I was just kind of...there. Yes, I tried really hard and I did my homework and sweated out the results of every single test, but I was never one of the ones to achieve academic glory time and time again. I struggled with stuff and I got mad that I couldn't "get" most of what was being taught, but somehow I made it through and managed to get a diploma and a hearty handshake from Mr. Rupert on graduation day.
Notre Dame damn near killed me. Let's face it, kids. I had absolutely NO business going to college, and I certainly had NO business going to college and selecting a major that included thirty-eight brainiacs...and me. While my classmates were reading Heidegger and Erasmus, I was reading Glamour and Jackie Collins. My friend Michelle Martin read War and Peace in Russian. I barely made it through the Cliff Notes.
So now I'm a grown-ass adult in a world that knows things, and I'm just happy when I can make it through the day without making a complete a total ass of myself.
But I have to ask.....
Is that so WRONG?
I mean, if the world needs ditch-diggers too, doesn't it also need "simple" people? Shouldn't it be OK for me to sit in the Happy Chair and poke my needle in and out of something and think about....nothing? When did it become incumbent upon me to solve all of the mysteries of the universe? When did it become necessary for me to have all of the answers? Why do I need to have a working knowledge of physics, or economics, or the inner workings of my washing machine?
Can't I just BE?
Yeah, yeah, I know. You're going to tell me that knowledge for knowledge's sake is what makes life worth living and that being the smartest person at a cocktail party can do wonders for one's self esteem. Well, I don't need any help in that department, thankyouverymuch. I am perfectly content to keep my trap shut and learn from somebody else for a while. Remember that year of being quiet? That was a good year, kids. Maybe I need to think about that as more of a permanent mantra rather than as a temporary slump.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm still going to watch PBS and read books and try to do the damn Sudoku every day, but if it's OK with all of you, I'm NOT going to try to be something I'm not....which is a nine-pound Jack Russell terrier dressed up in a silk smoking jacket with the smug self-satisfaction of knowing that you're smarter of every other living person in your household. I'm just going to be content to be the dopey Mo-ther, and Little Lord Know It All can satisfy his need for stimulation like nature and God intended....in a chat room for precocious little snobs that could have thrived with a smarter owner.
So the good news is that I now know what I'm doing this weekend. What's on YOUR agenda?
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