Sometimes I just have to laugh at my mama's voices in my head. (Okay, more often than just "sometimes.") Today it was when Voice 1 was nagging at me to watch my weight (so, yes, it would not only be okay to throw out the charred chocolate from Sunday's candy-coating debacle, but I actually should) and Voice 2 was simultaneously ordering me to put the whole mess into a freezer bag because it's still edible and the $1.09 I spent on it (i.e., a half-bag of milk chocolate morsels on sale) would become $5.09 in twenty years (assuming an average annual compound interest rate of 8%) and that $4 earned would likely pay for three tins of tunafish and a bag of rice and a carton of frozen spinach if that's all I can afford by the time I'm too decrepit to bus tables or otherwise scrounge for my daily bread.Not to mention
my own derivative spin of Voice 2, which was urging me to keep the chocolate on hand because what if I need a hit of chocolate three months from now when I'm burning the midnight oil, and there's none in the house because I was listening too much to Voice 1?
I tell you, some days the noise in my head is worse than a hair salon before an awards show. I'm glad to report that my sensible self prevailed over all these voices (i.e., I need the fridge space for better food, so I dumped the mess into the sink) -- and in less time than it took to type all this -- but holy hell. I'm getting better at recognizing the voices before they tie me into knots, but as my co-worker Gail told me a long time ago, "Your parents know which buttons to push -- after all, they installed them," and rewiring those circuits takes time.
A plus side to having a spaghetti-wired brain is being able to amuse myself even with rags. When I built a t-shirt fort for the hydrangea last month, I raided my husband's scrap box, which included this tee:
At the time, the hackberry and walnut trees nearby were shedding leaves like crazy. So I was giggling to myself as I planted that little bit of meta.