LIM: aka SOC For The Rest of Us

I think I'm going to have to have a button made up for LIM Friday Edition here. A party of one: me. That's one of a thousand reasons I love having a blog: you can always make a place for yourself where you'll fit in.

Last week I ran a post, LIM: Loose Inner Monologue: my version of the SOCs, the stream of consciousness memes that run on the internet. I never felt my thoughts were heady or introspective enough to be linked along with everyone else's, but I enjoyed the thought of  just typing away, no red light stopping you.

That's the premise behind my LIM. Tapping it out, as it comes, no worries about paling in comparison to the post above or the one below.


My Loose Inner Monologue here, for me, because it's like the last train to Clarksville, thoughts. Grab a hold as it leaves the station.

LIM Brain Dump of The Week: (because other than drilling a hole in your skull, how are you gonna declutter?) 


How do people get money to buy stuff? I'd love a treadmill, a new dishwasher, a cage hatch over the chimney to keep that dang 50 lb possum or raccoon or whatever it is that drags in and something else along with it, into our chimney every night. It's like bang drag bang drag. A mini Dr Frankencoon and his assistant there, every night, 11 pm on the dot. I'm calling somebody. 

That hoot owl at 3 a.m. is only majestic for so long, too. I know what's his face, that blonde singer from the 70's, Michael Murphy sang about the hoot owl outside his window like a love song, but not me. It's like spending the night at a zoo--it's winter, I know they're all looking for shelter, I know. But can't they go back to the woods?

I love having teens. Watching Movie Classics with them is funnier than Jerry Seinfeld on Dave Letterman. I could run a depression service: rent my teens out to watch movies with you. As good as Mystery Science Theater. I'd go along, of course--don't want to start getting emails telling me I can't rent out kids. Have people lost their sense of kidding lately? 

Or is it true, what my teens tell me. "Mom, I know you think you're funny, but your ideas just scare and worry people."

I wonder if what people say, that the music you heard in your teens will be your favorite music forever, goes for clothes, too. It might be true for music, because when Stevie Nicks comes on the radio, I don't change the station. And when I pick out clothes for my kids, I go to the earth tones, the soft beiges and greys and taupes. They call it Mom's District 12 taste, I call it in memory of The Doobie Brothers.

Why do I have to eat something just because it's good and in front of me. I don't have to. I can walk past it. I just have to try to not give in, and feel success, just once.

Or just eat it all at once, too, so it doesn't tempt me anymore. Why doesn't anyone ever get full on pie? 

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Have a mind that's more choppy than streamy? I invite you to write up your own Loose Inner Monologue post. Leave your link here. Admit it--just the mention of a brain dump and your thoughts are all jamming the aisle, like the last chopper out of Vietnam.

"One at a time, thoughts, one at a time ..."