I’ve never fully understood the expression “thirst for knowledge” until today, at 5:30 in the morning, when I woke up from bed very, very thirsty. I could feel a hairy lump in my throat which could only signify one thing – the onslaught of a summer cold. And speaking of cold, I have chosen to quench my dehydration with a steaming hot pot of coffee. Throw in some ADHD stimulants and Voila! Let the day begin.
Now back to my thirst. I had a dream last night of a fine powdery blue excrement that was excreting from my skin. It gave me a sort of sickly, pale complexion which made me think of how sickly and pale my entire life is. I had to examine my skin with a magnifying glass, under the glare of this ultra-violet light that I bought to ward off the winter blues. Hmmm … I’m not sure its working as advertised.
Anyways, I was so incredibly thirsty that I just gulped down that pot of coffee / ADHD stimulant medication mixture so quickly that I started seeing stars spinning around me out of control. And that’s when it hit me. I’m not just staring into my 12 by 8 foot mural of Van Gogh’s “Starry Night” superimposed by a giant Batman heeding the Bat-Signal which adorns the ceiling of my bedroom, I am truly thirsty. And still thirsty.
Well the coffee is all gone, so I can no longer blame my thirst on any of my physical yearnings. Therefore, I must be thirsty for knowledge.
I’ve been seeing this psychotherapist for a few months now. Oh no, its not what you think. I’m not having encounters of the romantic kind with her. Its strictly psychotherapeutical. Damn Microsoft Word spell-checker, do I have to input another word into your incomplete dictionary?
Anyway, Jennifer as I like to call her (my psychotherapist, not my spell-checker), has been such a mystery to me. I mean, she knows so much about me, yet I know so little about her. What’s up with that? And so, as any competent academic worth their salt would feel, I feel thirsty. Thirsty for knowledge.
Where does Jennifer live? Is she married? Is she happily married? Where does she go shopping for her tight-fitting yoga pants?
I have trusted my handy Google assistant to research this knowledge for me. Jennifer, as it turns out, lives in the suburbs. I know this for a fact because her white suburban SUV parked out in front of her office is also parked out in front of the house that Google View has shown me. Therefore, she must be married. I will hypothesize no children, as I do not see any child seats in her car. Therefore, she must not be happily married. Therefore, she must be open to affairs. Therefore, she must be attempting to seduce me with her yoga pants. Where does she get those yoga pants? Well, some things in this universe must be kept a mystery, otherwise what’s the point of it all?
Damn I’m good.
DRAGONE out!
I spent the second 6 months of 2016 preoccupied with applying to be a Canadian astronaut and as a result did not blog hardly at all. I made it past the first few rounds and was mentally gearing up for the physical tests that would come next, but it was not to be. Not that I thought I would actually make it as one of 2 astronauts hired from 4000 applicants. But I did hope, actually expect, to be among the last hundred or so going through rigorous testing and competitions as I imagine happens on the reality TV show Survivor, even though I never watched any episodes. I would have been good. A wily old coyote with surprising physical stamina and an overachiever under pressure. But maybe only in my dreams.
I haven’t a clue how popular or obscure Blippi is out there beyond the walls of this house. Not a clue.
As I was innocently looking up the two different spellings of the word donut, so that I can tell you all about how I am beaten down every morning by my 2-year-old to buy him a donut with sprinkles as the only way to get him out of the house so that I’m not late for work …. AGAIN. As I was looking up this cute and innocent bit of information the very first thing that Google gave me was this:
