Peanuts, my brain, and I have finally come to an agreement on two things. We are going to 1) write on this blog each day and 2) go for a walk each day.
Unfortunately, Peanuts is a little confused about the difference between writing and walking.
While walking, Peanuts is a veritable word magician. Arranging words in the cleverest of ways, coming up with funny, original concepts left and right; and then whipping them all together with hearty doses of unusual nouns, sparkling verbs, and to-die-for adjectives.
Peanuts often ends up with a swirl of words the world has never seen the likes of which! (That last sentence being a perfect example!)
On any given day, you might see Peanuts and I walking down the street mumbling, “Oh that’s good, I gotta remember that!” And then repeating some catchy phrase over and over inwardly (trying not to move our lips lest we be mistaken for crazy) and doing a fine job of it too, until Peanut’s gets distracted by running into a telephone pole and lets go of the idea completely.
At this point, all I can do is watch helplessly as the perfect word combo floats away to Cosmic Essay Limbo, where all the good little essays live, huddled together, in a cruel parallel universe where prepositions are panned, adjectives are illegal and verbs just rub everybody the wrong way.
Sigh. . . If Peanuts would simply pay attention to where Peanuts is walking instead of trying to write essays on the fly, there would certainly be a lot fewer distractions going on in the way of stumbling, fumbling and mumbling.
Of course as soon as we get back, and I am seated at the computer keyboard, Peanuts has already punched out for the day, and I am left nothing but Peanut’s involuntary functions with which to slap together some sort of wordage for this blog.
Don’t get me wrong, slapping together wordage is one of my favorite things, but it’s even more fun when Peanuts is actually involved in the process and not wandering around up there in the attic folds sifting through old memories.
Sometimes I think Peanuts just doesn’t give a flying fig about me.
I’m warning you, Peanuts, if you ever become vegetative, I’m unplugging on you so fast it will make your wordage swirl!
Wait . . . what’s that? Oh, Peanuts has just checked in with me. Peanuts says instead of saying, “Peanuts doesn’t give a flying fig about me”, I should say, “Peanuts doesn’t give an airborne artichoke about me.”
That Peanuts! It’s that kind of writing that makes me forgive Peanuts every time, no matter how mad I get.
Until next time . . . I love you