Zoomy Dirt Therapy

For whatever reason coffee got me way more mentally zoomy than usual.  And that's always fun.  I mean, sometimes it's not fun.  Like when I feel zoomy on the inside but on the outside it's like I'm moving underwater?  A lot of times I used to I feel super zoomy in one part of my brain like a tape played on high speed that keeps getting faster and faster and then another part of my brain felt like a tape played in slo-mo and they would compete with each other for stage time in my head.  That felt just as freaky and weird as it probably was to read.  I discovered over the years that talking out loud usually takes that competing speed voices thing away. 

The voices can be really loud sometimes too.  They say things like, "one more won't hurt" and "let go of the wheel" and "let's try bangs!  here!  I've got the scissors!"  Shut up, voices.  You're not helping.

This is just more evidence that I have some kind of disorder.  But I'm okay with it.  It's one of those things that make me me.  I like me right now.  You can tell by the less amount of snapping at the kids I have done since I last snapped.  Last night, the Things even told me I was weird. 

Me: Duh, guys.  What else is new?  How do you think I am weird? 
Thing 1: Ummm...  You blow out lightbulbs?  Duh back? 
Me: Oh, uh, good point. 

They're not wrong.  Anyway.  Coffee.  Zoomy.  Too much time on computer this morning.  It's a beautiful day!  I should go cut the grass!

Inside my head, cutting the grass sounds like this:

I'm really zoomy today.  I need this Dirt Therapy.  I also need a haircut.  I should email Christiano about getting an appointment.  What would he do?  I just need layers.  I'm not ready to be his Barbie Makeover Head.  I'm gonna email him anyway.  What's the worst?  Oh, crap.  The last time I mowed over this part I cut the cable lines to the house.  I am lethal with a mower.  I feel nutty as a fruitcake right now.  Anything could happen.  Wait.  Maybe that's not fair to fruitcakes.  Are they even nutty?  I never even tried fruitcake.  I should make one.  There's a recipe in Fannie Farmer and she seemed to like them well enough.  But there's all that candied fruit that glows in the dark.  Nah.  No fruitcake.  Holy!  What was that?!  One of these gumballs is going to go flying and put my eye out.  That would suck.  Should I rake those up before I mow?  Aww, fuck that.  I don't wanna.  I can face a fucking gumball.  Raking sucks.  It's like I'm a Frontier Wife without the pesky inconvenience of a husband.  I would trade sex for landscaping.  Wait.  That sounds exactly like being married.  Skip it.  What the hell is a flat head screwdriver doing in the yard?  Those kids.  I swear.  Wow.  I threw that further than I thought I would.  I should be a ninja.  No.  I could never be a ninja.  Too klutzy.  Amanda Bynes could play me in my life story I'm so klutzy.  She's good at pratfalls.  And comedy.  Jesus.  Is this part just DIRT?  The dust.  gah!  I hope the neighbors aren't out.  Whatever.  Fuck them.  Tell me to move my half pipe?  It weighs a TON.  You're stupid.  Turn up those boulder looking speakers next to your pool and shut up.  Do I complain about your soft pop hits?  NO.  And I don't care if your son is in the Blue Man Group.  They are creepy as fuck.  Whatever.  Live and let live already.  Oh man.  Those weeds behind the garden.  I shouldn't have taken apart the weed whacker last year.  Way to plan, Silver.  I'm gonna need a scythe to get those.  Or is it a sickle?  Fuck it.  I'm done.

Inner workings of Dirt Therapy, y'all.