I’ve a tidbit for you. Having just returned from a hike with neighbors, I learned something about the ribs. See, on said hike we discussed various ailments, and it turns out, my pal Jonathan pulled or tweaked–somethinged his rib. Elevated it. That’s what he called it. Anyway, he started describing where it hurt, and I am here to tell you people that I obviously had no idea where ribs begin.
If you would have asked me two hours ago, before my walk with Jonathan and his wife Blakley, during which Jonathan described his injury, where the ribs begin, I would have pointed somewhere near the nipples.
I was way off. They start up by your neck.
Benson is traveling for work and I look forward to telling him of my new information.
Anyway, I continue rearranging furniture like a crazed woman, expanding my gaze from the dining nook to the living room, even outside. Rockers which once lived on the screened porch now reside by the front door. A dresser gracing our living room shifted to the screened porch to make room for a second loveseat (third if you count the raspberry sorbet settee, which Benson absolutely counts). For 24 hours we labeled our living room the sofa emporium until I came to my senses and humbly asked Benson to help me change it back. We huffed and hoisted, shooing cats away from the door whilst tripping on the dog.
Arrangement 9: Plenty of cushy spots to rest . . .
Arrangement 10: One less comfy seat, but also less Havertys feeling . . .
I partly blame all this, this, let’s call it “creativity,” on my recent efforts to ditch scrolling social media. Y’all, I was addicted, freely donating my brain cells to anyone with a camera and a keyboard. “YOU get a brain cell and YOU get a brain cell. Who’s that? A lady I met on vacation fourteen years ago? Your kid takes karate? Give her a brain cell from me! Throw in bonus cells for the eight other kids in the picture!”
It really hit me when I realized I was spending more time watching videos of cats than I was actually watching my cats.
Y’all.
It simply had to stop. I went cold turkey.
For the first five days I felt a bit irritable, wondering what I was missing, longing for my little pings of happiness I’d receive every sixty clicks or so. Next, I felt a bit of freedom, a calmness in which my mind was able to simply sit and be. And then . . .
What’s happened, I’ve gathered, is that my brain cells began wondering what to do with themselves. “Why aren’t you donating us to that guy your husband knew in 8th grade?” they wondered. Alas, left to their own devices, they latched themselves onto my home furnishings.
“This pillow you brought back from India? HERE WE WILL RESIDE, EXCEPT PUT US BELOW THAT PAINTING FROM ZIHUATANEJO. That drawing of an Austrian mountain you scored off eBay? THIS IS NOW OUR HOME AND MAYBE YOU SHOULD MOVE US FROM THE BEDROOM WALL TO ABOVE THAT MIRROR.”
Anyway, I still plan to use social media. I’m just attempting to limit my brain cell donations.
(Also, the irony that I will post this blog to said sites is not lost on me.)
WE INTERRUPT THIS PROGRAM WITH BREAKING NEWS:
My cat just FELL IN THE POOL AND SWAM ACROSS IT AND CLIMBED OUT. He sprinted in the house, sopping wet, and when I tried to grab him with a beach towel he freaked out even more than he had while clawing his way out of the water! He’s now furiously licking himself in front of my fake fireplace (which I’ve also tested in different locations over the past two days).
Okay back to my brain cells and how I’m apparently this creative genius now. This book is helping (and crushingly convicting):
So like I said, these brain cells are latching on to any old thing they can these days . . . flea market paintings, Mexican blankets, even finding themselves stuck inside rib cages, which reside in places I’d never imagined.
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I would have loved a video of the cat swimming across the pool then running into the house! LOL That is just crazy! Miss you lots! I love your blog. Thanks for the updates.