Bannedjoe
Well-known member
Another thing I try really hard to do, is not do stupid shit.
That's totally for other people, and I just don't have the time nor patience for it in myself.
I hate to start blaming stuff on my age, but more and more lately I'll be completely focused on doing something I really want to get accomplished, and suddenly in the middle, or even at the end, I'll realize I've done it all wrong, but at the time I was absolutely sure of what I was doing.
It would be much akin as to setting out to make pancakes.
I'm making pancakes....I'm making pancakes, I'm making pancakes, I sure am doing a good job making these pancakes, watch me go...I know exactly what I'm doing....Then bam!!!!! I'm holding a fucking plate of cheese burgers.
What the fuck was I thinking?
I thought I was making pancakes, I watched myself as I was pattying up the hamburger, but for some ungodly reason, it just didn't register that I wasn't making pancakes at all.
Ok, well that might have been exaggerating a little bit, but that's kinda what it feels like when this shit happens.
It's just doing something so fucking stupid and not realizing it when you're doing it, although you'd never do such a thing if you were paying attention, although you could have sworn you were paying attention when you did it.
Can any of you wrap your head around this, or is it just me?
I really try hard not to do stupid shit, it's not one of my habits this doing stupid shit thing.
Maybe I'm losing it or getting senile.
Maybe I caught the covid, didn't know it, and now I have this brain damage thing that folks are starting to talk about.
I don't know, but WTF, everybody else is using covid as their goto excuse, so I guess why not?
So just a day or two ago the weather was beautiful, and as I looked around after the recent rain, and windstorms that there was a bunch of crap that needed collecting, cleaned up, or disposed of.
I loaded up a bunch of stuff that I had been tripping over all winter, as well as a few piles I had been promising myself to eradicate, and loaded them into the back of my pickup for a trip to my own private crater I dug years ago for just such things.
It's the place things go when I decide I've gleaned every useful part off of them, and it's finally time to part with them, which is another thing I really hate doing, because odds are a week later I'll be down it the hole digging the motherfucker back up because now for some reason it's become useful to me again.
Anyways, burnables go in the firepit, and the unburnables go to my dump.
So that day I not only had the truck loading up, but I also had the firepit roaring with garbage, and my personal cardboard collection mostly consisting of boxes with with that smiley mouth weiner thing on it which had been piling up for months from the fine folks at Amazon distributing their Chinesium to me.
I stepped into the house to grab my truck keys, took a bag of garbage offered to me by my wife, and at the same time eyed the trash can sitting by my desk that really deserved some attention.
I gathered it all up, went outside, and tossed it all into the fire.
Abby, my Jack Russell, was eagerly waiting for me by the truck.
She don't miss a thing, and one of the things she doesn't miss best is anyone preparing to go for a drive anywhere.
She doesn't care where we go, all she knows is that she's going too, come hell or high water.
I opened the door for her to get in, and at the same time saw a few cans of dead paint, and a few other miscellaneous items sitting in the carport that might also enjoy a ride to the dump.
So I gathered them up, and into the truck they went.
I made one more trip into the house to grab my water jug and smokes then back out to the truck.
As I was about to turn the ignition, it occured to me that it was going to be quite difficult for me to do.
This was due to the fact that there were no keys in it.
Hmmmmmm.
I thought I put the keys in my truck.
I got out of the truck and rummaged through my pockets for the keys, but they weren't there.
Abby was wishing they were there because she was more than ready to go.
I told her to hang on because I must have left them back in the house when I went to get my water.
I do.
I really do tell my dog things like this because by now, I'm certain she understands every word in the english language, and by god, she deserves an explanation.
Heading back to the house I can't help but to check my pockets again.
I'm not sure why I think I'd miss a janitor sized ring of keys in my pocket the first time, but you know, it's just something you do.
Nope, still not there.
I check the kitchen table, nope.
The top of my desk doesn't bare them either.
I look by the sink, and the wife asks what I'm looking for.
I tell her my keys, and she imparts with her great wisdom that I just had them minutes ago.
Sometimes nothing drives me more nuts than someone stating the obvious.
Yeah, I know I just had them, and at the moment, I just don't, but I'll find 'em.
I head back out and look in the truck again.
I ask Abby, where are the keys?
That's totally for other people, and I just don't have the time nor patience for it in myself.
I hate to start blaming stuff on my age, but more and more lately I'll be completely focused on doing something I really want to get accomplished, and suddenly in the middle, or even at the end, I'll realize I've done it all wrong, but at the time I was absolutely sure of what I was doing.
It would be much akin as to setting out to make pancakes.
I'm making pancakes....I'm making pancakes, I'm making pancakes, I sure am doing a good job making these pancakes, watch me go...I know exactly what I'm doing....Then bam!!!!! I'm holding a fucking plate of cheese burgers.
What the fuck was I thinking?
I thought I was making pancakes, I watched myself as I was pattying up the hamburger, but for some ungodly reason, it just didn't register that I wasn't making pancakes at all.
Ok, well that might have been exaggerating a little bit, but that's kinda what it feels like when this shit happens.
It's just doing something so fucking stupid and not realizing it when you're doing it, although you'd never do such a thing if you were paying attention, although you could have sworn you were paying attention when you did it.
Can any of you wrap your head around this, or is it just me?
I really try hard not to do stupid shit, it's not one of my habits this doing stupid shit thing.
Maybe I'm losing it or getting senile.
Maybe I caught the covid, didn't know it, and now I have this brain damage thing that folks are starting to talk about.
I don't know, but WTF, everybody else is using covid as their goto excuse, so I guess why not?
So just a day or two ago the weather was beautiful, and as I looked around after the recent rain, and windstorms that there was a bunch of crap that needed collecting, cleaned up, or disposed of.
I loaded up a bunch of stuff that I had been tripping over all winter, as well as a few piles I had been promising myself to eradicate, and loaded them into the back of my pickup for a trip to my own private crater I dug years ago for just such things.
It's the place things go when I decide I've gleaned every useful part off of them, and it's finally time to part with them, which is another thing I really hate doing, because odds are a week later I'll be down it the hole digging the motherfucker back up because now for some reason it's become useful to me again.
Anyways, burnables go in the firepit, and the unburnables go to my dump.
So that day I not only had the truck loading up, but I also had the firepit roaring with garbage, and my personal cardboard collection mostly consisting of boxes with with that smiley mouth weiner thing on it which had been piling up for months from the fine folks at Amazon distributing their Chinesium to me.
I stepped into the house to grab my truck keys, took a bag of garbage offered to me by my wife, and at the same time eyed the trash can sitting by my desk that really deserved some attention.
I gathered it all up, went outside, and tossed it all into the fire.
Abby, my Jack Russell, was eagerly waiting for me by the truck.
She don't miss a thing, and one of the things she doesn't miss best is anyone preparing to go for a drive anywhere.
She doesn't care where we go, all she knows is that she's going too, come hell or high water.
I opened the door for her to get in, and at the same time saw a few cans of dead paint, and a few other miscellaneous items sitting in the carport that might also enjoy a ride to the dump.
So I gathered them up, and into the truck they went.
I made one more trip into the house to grab my water jug and smokes then back out to the truck.
As I was about to turn the ignition, it occured to me that it was going to be quite difficult for me to do.
This was due to the fact that there were no keys in it.
Hmmmmmm.
I thought I put the keys in my truck.
I got out of the truck and rummaged through my pockets for the keys, but they weren't there.
Abby was wishing they were there because she was more than ready to go.
I told her to hang on because I must have left them back in the house when I went to get my water.
I do.
I really do tell my dog things like this because by now, I'm certain she understands every word in the english language, and by god, she deserves an explanation.
Heading back to the house I can't help but to check my pockets again.
I'm not sure why I think I'd miss a janitor sized ring of keys in my pocket the first time, but you know, it's just something you do.
Nope, still not there.
I check the kitchen table, nope.
The top of my desk doesn't bare them either.
I look by the sink, and the wife asks what I'm looking for.
I tell her my keys, and she imparts with her great wisdom that I just had them minutes ago.
Sometimes nothing drives me more nuts than someone stating the obvious.
Yeah, I know I just had them, and at the moment, I just don't, but I'll find 'em.
I head back out and look in the truck again.
I ask Abby, where are the keys?