Wednesday, June 8, 2011

On Multitasking (AKA, I was a...Oh, never mind.)

(Pre-Script: This post best read as the song, "Cornflake Girl," #8 on the playlist, plays in the background. Go down to the playlist, click on that song, then come back and resume reading. I'll wait...)(...still waiting...)

So in a parallel universe, I was a stay at home Mom of four children, a long distance Runner, a Weight Lifter, a Writer, a Personal Stylist, a Makeup Artist, a Sociological Genius* (*in my own mind, and I believe I have a good mind about such things), and an original healthy recipe creating Ninja Chef and Baker with a knack for treasure hunting* (*of various types of treasures) . Oh, and I grew my own flowers and vegetables, too.

Oh wait, that is still who I am in this present universe. I forgot for a second, because hello, I have a lot on my plate. I didn't even mention that I home school my own children? That's because I don't.

Also, the flowers and vegetables are metaphoric at this point; I have so far never grown anything but human beings, but since I rather like the number "four, " I feel it's time to move on to growing lesser things. Not to insult the vegetables and flowers, but what they lack in quality, I hope they can make up for in quantity. AKA, I value the children higher, but I will have no qualms about growing many more than 4 vegetables and flowers. You see my point. But now this brings to mind the old saying, "you are what you eat," which would, philosophically, put the children and the vegetables back on the same level playing field, value wise. This is assuming that said children actually eat said (still metaphoric, completely imaginary, as I have yet to so much as aerate the soil with my high, high heels) vegetables.


In the parallel universe I apparently inhabit, I also had a propensity for yes, wearing high, high heels and painting my fingernails bright red. Lest you think these attributes clash with the life of the gardener I am becoming, (in my mind) I would argue that first, go back and re-read the last sentence of the previous paragraph, and that second, red is the perfect nail polish color of a gardener, for it will surely hide the blood when my green thumb starts to bleed from toiling so long with the soil.

"...but Michelle,"

my imaginary reader interjects-

"...Michelle, your hands won't bleed from gardening; they probably wont bleed unless you plan to grow and pick cotton, but you live many, many miles from a plantation in the South, circa 1842, so this is highly unlikely."

Hm. You know, imaginary reader, I have to hand it to you, sometimes you are exactly the voice of reason.

"Thank you."

But now, Gentle Reader, what do I do with my red nail polish? Can I still wear it? How will it affect my gardening career?

"Well, Michelle, I can't say, no one knows yet, it hasn't been done."

Well reader, I have always been a pioneering trailblazer (OH! Forgot to add "Pioneering Trailblazer" to my list at the top...DOH!).
Give me bright nail polish, or give me death.*

*By "me," I just mean the part of "me" that dreams of becoming a gardener.


Amen, let's eat.

(Important note: At this point, it's still just imaginary, parallel universe food.)


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