forget what you forgot…

forgetting what you forgot

Forgetting what you forgot is unbelievably frustrating…especially when the only thing you remember about whatever it was was that it was the most profound, deep, inspiring, uplifting, intelligent, eclectic, electric, ambitious, eloquent, pensive, smooth, clear, transparent, summation of what I was feeling and what I would do in the future.  It was something that would be the cornerstone of everything I would build upon in the future.  It was a game changer, a tide turner, a turning point, a climax and hope for a new direction that never was even considered.

But I forgot it.  You can’t set a trap for it, you can’t coax it out of hiding, you can’t leave cookies and milk for it.  It’s just gone.  Deal with it… take it like a squirrel.  Promise yourself that from now on, you will write everything down, you will have a writing instrument and a scrap of anything to write on at all times… nothing, NOTHING will ever meet the same fate as this golden nugget of everything has.  You WILL record it all.  Even if 2 minutes and 34 seconds after you record it you determine that it is utterly worthless, you preserved something that needed to be preserved.  You did it.

But you’ll forget again.  Trust me.  You’ll remember that you’ll forget something.  Then you’ll remember what you forgot.

that moment…

the moment before the belly flop...

The moment before the belly flop is one of the best moments ever.  You’re not at the beginning and your not at the end… and you have a split second of weightlessness… you’re flying…not thinking about the giant pool of liquid underneath you that is rapidly approaching the softest, most tender part of your body.  The liquid is liquid, right? It’ll envelope you into its cool, welcoming arms and break your fall.  For that moment, you don’t think about the liquid feeling like concrete when your free fall ends, you don’t think about that you have chosen to do this, you have chosen to take the leap.

I love that moment.

squirrel gots the blues…

bob the squirrel has the blah blues

Yeah, I got the squirrel blah blues.  This in spite of the fact that today is National Doughnut Day.  They came from out of nowhere.  Or, if you want to be technical (or literal) from the sky.  I haven’t seen the blueness in two days.  And the rain… oh so much rain. There’s so much rain.  So, i got the blues…

dealing with my issues

dealing with my issues

I so love dealing with my personal issues.  If I ever had to fill out something that asks me to list my occupation, I suppose “issue dealer” would be on my short list of options.  Cultural icon would be my first choice.

I should also mention that Frank, ever the time conservationist, has again given me a bare bones drawing… no erasing, no inking, no makeup.  He says he likes the way it looks… I guess I could acquire a taste for this new thing… but hopefully he won’t make it too permanent.  Too many eyes on my structure feels weird.

My issues are my issues…making them the most important issues in the world.  They are unique only to me and me alone. I only want to deal with your issues if they overlap on mine or I accidentally trip over them.  I’m not the only one that feels this way.  Everyone cares to a point and then pushes that point to the back of the refrigerator until it starts to smell bad or turns an unnatural color.  I’m not the only one.  You can be like this too.

This is how actors and actresses develop their chops.  By becoming convincing that they care.  If you don’t believe me, look it up.

 

without makeup…

bob the squirrel without makeup

Makeup can do a lot of things.  It can cover up the flaws, accentuate what you like, make you into who you are or make you into someone you’re not.  Peeling off the layers of the day is an equalizer we all understand…when those layers go, the day is over.  You start the next day with a clean slate and a whole new set of layers.

Makeup doesn’t just have to be a face paint.  To me, it can encapsulate anything added to your being: clothes, jewelry, hair color, facial hair, perfumes, etc.  All these things change the being…in many cases, the objects and decorations end up the cornerstone of who you are.   Is Frank still Frank without the beard and mustache? Yes he is, but HE wouldn’t think so.  We become so attached to our adornments that they become part of our bodies.  If one part of that adornment is missing, we initially feel stilted, wrong.  Eventually that feeling fades… if you let it.  On the other hand, ridding yourself of a crutch-like adornment could be the most liberating feeling ever.  To think you can leave the house without having to worry what color your lips are or if anyone can see your bald spot.

Luckily, I don’t have that problem.  I’m life-ready right out of the box.  I look just as bad with makeup as I do without.  Layers get you through the day, but they cannot fix the core esteem.

the squirrel doctor who…

the new doctor who...bob the squirrel who...

As with baseball, I am a late coming fan to the goliath that is Doctor Who.  Doctor Who is similar to baseball in that there is just SO MUCH of it.  Baseball has been around for over 100 years.  Doctor Who has been around, in one form or another, since 1963.  It would take a while to get it all in.  Here I thought getting in all 11 seasons, 251 episodes  of M*A*S*H was a feat.

So, the current Doctor will be leaving soon.  the 12th Doctor needs to be lined up.  I’m throwing my scarf and screwdriver into the ring…can’t hurt to ask, right?  I have failed at running for President of the United States, becoming the next Pope and becoming Rachael Ray’s husband.  I’m still holding out for that last one.

If it doesn’t happen, hey… water under the bridge, right?  My english accent needs a bit of work, but otherwise I’m ready to run the TARDIS.

the switch…

switching your mind off is dangerous

Yes, I indeed hit the switch and turned my mind off this weekend.  Squirrels were built for a lot of things, but thinking deep thoughts was not really taken into heavy consideration when the biology factory started churning us out.  I literally felt my brain sizzling like a Sunday gravy meatball.  I didn’t pay much attention to it until I began to smell burning cashews.  Yes, that was my brain… and yes a burning squirrel brain smells like over roasted cashews.  You won’t find that little bit of info in any biology or zoology text… trust me.

So I hit the switch to rest the brain.  Hopefully, that little bit of rest de-sizzled my noggin enough to keep this party going.  I have a lot to say over the next few months… i just don’t know it.

I can’t say that I feel refreshed in any way.  I honestly felt more squirrelly not doing anything that if I were chugging out the nuts of philosophical bob-ness.  I had to force myself to do nothing.  Duct tape was a big help in that department.  Duct tape, as is a recurring theme in our world, can do just about everything.  It can even make a squirrel relax.   Getting it all off me made for a bit of anxiety, but everything up to that point was pretty cool.

Now where is that switch?  Probably under some piece of duct tape.

success at failing…

success at failing

Success is a double edged peanut.  I’ve not had any opportunity to deal with such a peanut, but if I do, I’m sure the first edge will be the tastiest edge around.  That other edge?  I’ll either deal with that when I get to it or just toss the shell.

I’m not in too much of a philosophical mood today.  You don’t read too much about it, but I’m sure Aristotle , Socrates and Plato had their off days.  You know, those days when their robes just didn’t feel right, their sandals were too tight or they just wanted to take a break from thinking, chill out under a column and eat olives all day.

I don’t really like olives.

what baseball does to bob

baseball and bob the squirrel

I was never a baseball fan.  We didn’t get many games televised in the tree that I was born in.

Frank was never a baseball fan.  He played farm league baseball (the one between t-ball and little league) for two summers before getting his nose broken by a hard throw to home.  (He was a catcher who picked the perfect time to throw off his mask…and caught the ball with his face.)  It’s hard to like something after it broke your nose.

Ken Burns changed all that… for Frank anyway.  Burns did a little 10 part documentary on the game for PBS called Baseball.  One weekend in 2011, Frank happened to stream it on Netflix.  He started with the first hour and the next thing he knew, he watched the whole thing.  All 1,000 hours of it.  He loved the stories of the men and women in the game.  He was hooked.

He kept his new found love a secret for a while, but this was at the beginning of the season.  The lure of almost nightly games was too much for the man to resist.  He knew that Lezley was a New York Yankees fan, but was still hesitant to reveal his secret to even the love of his life.

He did a week of strips telling the world how he became a baseball fan… even putting Ken Burns himself in the strip.  He then sent those strips to Mr. Burns, who loved them so much, he sent Frank an entire set of his dvds.  As of this post, we still haven’t watched them all..

Finally he told her.  The first game they watched together was a Cleveland Indians vs. New York Yankees game.  You’re probably wondering why and how I remember that.  Wouldn’t YOU remember when you lost your best friend to a game?  Wouldn’t you?

It took two years, but he broke me.  I now like baseball.  I now watch baseball.  Oh, I resisted… in the end, resistance is futile…and I got tired of not being included.  So yes, I am a Yankee fan…but more importantly, I am a Baseball fan.

Everything between Ken Burns and me?  It’s squashed.  Let’s watch a couple of innings.

absent without leaves…

absent without leaves

I can only be in one place at one time, consequently, I’m absent from a lot of things I should be at.  Even if there were two of me, I still wouldn’t be somewhere I needed to be because whoever was there, even though they were there, still wouldn’t be me.  I’d lose track of things and then stuff would happen… just like that completely underrated (well, maybe not COMPLETELY underrated) movie with the Batman guy in it: Multiplicity. 

Too much of a good thing is fine, just so long as you can keep track of it and be able to get rid of it without feeling bad.

Even when frank draws me more than once, he can’t keep track of all the Bobs.

So, I’m the star of the show… and I don’t have an understudy.  Sure, Frank could play the part, but even if he wore a tail, the authenticity would be forced.  The show must go on… with the one and only.  I may not hit it out of the park every single time, but I’ll at least make it to the grass.  Absent is not an option.  We went through this at the end of 2011… not in the mood to get all drill sergeant on Frank again.

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