So my intent was to blog about something lighthearted today. The past two entries have been pretty heavy, even for my standards. I delve into heavy stuff, sometimes with reluctance, but most times with both feet. A swan dive into hectic and complex feelings and emotions. It’s the therapist in me, I can overanalyze and therapize just about anything. “Oh? You like chocolate, you say? Well, of course it represents your overactive libido and your inappropriate attachment to your mother….” That type of analysis would make Siggy proud. Andiepants breaks apart feelings into smaller and smaller fragments until their origins become transparent. I relentlessly pick apart the tangled web of emotions, carefully, methodically and examine and analyze every strand. But sometimes, my overworked, overanalytical (not a word, by the way), intensely anxious, underpaid (grossly!) brain decides to wave the proverbial white flag, puts in a call to its union rep and goes home.
Sometimes, friends, I want to hang up my therapy pants. As much as I love it, there are times when I just really want to put this aside and adopt a whole new career. Doing what, you ask? Professional puppy-hugger, perhaps. How great would life be if you could hold and snuggle puppies for 8 hours out of every day? Mmmmm bliss. Or maybe a licensed, certified finger painter…call andiepants for all your finger painting needs. I could live in an industrial loft space, dipping my hands wildly into paint and splattering them onto a canvas, and then selling it for thousands of dollars. I like the sound of that. Or how about a highly trained and experienced high five specialist? I could just stand outside of a highly populated area and high five people all day long. Sometimes I need to give the brain a break… a chance to just float merrily along in its sea of brain-y goo. Take a personal day, brain! A neurological sabbatical, if you will. Take the day off from firing off millions of signals and responses and thoughts and stressors and gahhhh…. This is why I grind my teeth.
And in the interest of floating merrily along in a sea of brain-y goo, I’d like to put forth a deep and profound question courtesy of a movie I recently saw: If you could choose to be any animal, what animal would you choose? In the aforementioned movie (it was called “The Other Guys”, and it was hilarious), the person asked chose “BearDog”. However, it was his reasoning behind his choice of BearDog that made the absurdity of this choice insanely awesome. He stated that he chose BearDog so that he could live in the house like a dog, but poo in the woods like a bear. Now that is a well thought out argument if I’ve ever heard one.
This cinematic discussion caused andiepants to think of my own choice if ever faced with this important question. There was a time in my life when I would have immediately replied that I would like to be a cow. In my youth, I was something of a cow collector, a bovine aficionado, if you will. Whenever someone incredulously asked “why?!?”, I would state that they are “sooooo cute”. However, after getting a bit older, and ESPECIALLY after moving to the southwest, I no longer feel this way for several reasons. Most involve the horrible and cruel treatment of the herd (especially the whole slaughter thing), but also because of the herd mentality that befalls those of the bovine persuasion. You never see any free thinking cows! No cows are standing on soapboxes, calling for change or attempting to unionize. I once explained to a visiting friend that cattle guards (those grated structures they place across the roads to keep cattle in one location) are there just in case the cows run amok. Mike, overhearing this, whipped his head around to my direction and speared me with a look of contempt. “Who told you that?” he asked, “Cows? Running amok? They’re the most docile creatures in the world, andie.” (Sidenote: apparently my husband to be has never heard of the running of the bulls…. Not so docile, my friend. Or mad cow disease… or the bovine equivalent of a complete overthrow of the government: a moo d’etat [ha! Get it! Moo d’etat! Sigh..]).
Anyway, no more dreams of being reincarnated as Bessie, so what then? Well, I have standards friends, and if I come back as an animal there are some rules to adhere to. First, nothing too small for fear of being trampled, eaten or just plain wussy. There goes mouse, squirrel, rabbit, frog , etc. Secondly, nothing nocturnal. I’m a big fan of the sun (proclaims my millions of freckles) and I’m not too fond of the dark (I think the lemur community might frown upon the use of a night light). Third, nothing overtly vicious. Yes, readers, being a lion might be awesome, but I don’t think that andiepants has the constitution to rip a poor little antelope to tiny bloody bits.
So to summarize, the chosen animal can’t be too small, can’t be slaughtered regularly for food or clothing, must observe the normal circadian rhythym that I am accustomed to, and not be especially carnivorous or violent. What animal does that leave us with? I think the answer is pretty obvious. Andiepants will obviously reincarnate as a winged unicorn. I mean, its really the only creature that fits the bill. And I will prance around the universe, swishing my little unicorn tail with reckless abandon.
enjoy your thursday and be happy.
andie.
No comments:
Post a Comment