Why does everything look like a nail?

Why does everything look like a nail?

Day off. Been opening the store for weeks. Woke on the day off at 5:15...this despite my not turning in until midnight.

Got up. Did laundry. Watched a news story on the Today Show while folding, about the dangers of having children near lawnmowers...had to disagree and vocally with the television person, as they said we need to teach kids to fear the lawnmower, when all we need in this country is a dose of common sense and respect for the immutable power that is the lawnmower.

Respect.

Not fear.

The lawnmower can smell your fear.

Yeah. You laugh. But how funny is it when the Deere comes up the stairs and down the hallway, and pins you the guest room with its nine-level adjustable deck and its badass zero-radius turning power?

Hell, yeah.

The lawnmower can smell your fear.

The lawnmower can also smell your farts.

The lawnmower wonders why you're eating all that broccoli.

The lawnmower wonders why the mother who ran her son over with the lawnmower didn't do the common sense thing, and look behind her before backing up.

The lawnmower doesn't have mirrors, the lady said.

The lawnmower doesn't have mirrors.

No mirrors, so there must be nothing to see back there.

Seems to me that the threat isn't lawnmowers, it's dumbass lawnmower drivers.

Just ask the lawnmower.

I did have to agree with one statement made this morning: That parents shouldn't let kids ride in their laps while operating a lawnmower.

There was an old metal outbuilding at our house growing up, with a Lowe's mower shaped indention, that is testament to that particular fact. I was in my Dad's lap, and we ran the mower into the building. It was the only time I heard my mother use the phrase "I think I shit in my pants."

True story.

I've never been so scared that I've shit in my pants. Not nearly.

And I'm scared of most things.

Bees. Snakes. Commitment. Roller Coasters.

And if this weekend didn't give you reason to be afraid of roller coasters...now they're coming after you.

Actually, I'm not afraid of roller coasters. I rather enjoy them. But it's been literally years since I've ridden a roller coaster.

That's a shame.

It was at Six Flags over Georgia, too. Although it was the Georgia Cyclone, and not the Batman Decapitator.

I say we elect Sylvester Stallone judge, in Georgia, but only if he's allowed to use his costumes from Judge Dredd. And if he promises to shoot dead any family member of the dumbass who hopped the fence who attempts to sue Six Flags over this stupid shit. We put fences up for a reason. And there are no guarantees in life.

Especially if your fate is in the hands of Sylvester Stallone.

If you think about it, though, most of our fates truly are in the hands of Sylvester Stallone.

Scary Thoughts.

Anyway. Re: the title of this post.

Work too much. Makes everything start to look like a task. Even the stuff you really enjoy. Had a couple of netflix movies sitting on the TeeVee for weeks--just couldn't find time to watch them...started Glengarry Glen Ross, which I haven't seen since college, only to find myself looking at my watch ten minutes in.

Same with keeping the Blahg.

One of the few hobbies I've stuck with for more than a few months...and posting started to feel like an obligation...another task.

Forgot that this is actually something I enjoy doing...something I feel like I was put here to do.

Not blogging, specifically. But, when I write, and it goes well, it feels like I'm somewhere in the neighborhood of what I'm supposed to be doing down here on this blue and green marble.

I forget things, sometimes.

I also sometimes wear mismatched shoes.

They were both white New Balance shoes...just not the same make or level of cleanliness.

It is becoming painfully apparent that I am in need of, at best, an executive assistant. At worst, a keeper.

Are executive assistants allowed to hurl fish at me, for my eating and entertainment?

Curious.