Lucidity Now!

Most of the time, my mind is a spastic jumble of Jeopardy trivia, television commercial jingles from the 80’s, the part of regular Catholic weekday Mass that the priest says, and a never-ending to-do list. If you were to cut my head open and read my thoughts at any given time, it would appear something like this:

“Good morning America how are ya? Well don’t you know me I’m your native son? I’m the car they call your Cutlass Sierra and ohshitshitshitshit did I forget to log out of Facebook? I’m driving to Shoppers Drugmart instead of Rexall Drugs becase the line will be shorter and it’s closer to Tim Hortons. Horton Hears a Who? That video on YouTube of people petting tiny owls was sure cute. Is that a new restaurant? Why did they go in THAT location? I should go in there and see if they have anything worthwhile. Hey! Asshole! Try a turn signal! Hey, I love this song. Haven’t heard Stone Temple Pilots in like, 20 minutes! God I love Scott Weiland! I need to remember to put him in my death pool. Oooh! Shiny!”

Yeah.

That’s pretty much it, unless I’m sleeping, and then it’s just {fade to black} until I open my eyes because a kid is snuffling or my husband is thundering up and down the squeaky stairs.

And then, once in a while, I have a fleeting moment of stunning, fleeting lucidity, when I’m smacked in the face with the reality of a situation.

The static disappears, and there is a single thought in my head.

It echos.

Usually it is:

HOLY SHIT. I’M THIRTY THREE. WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?

Or:

HOLY SHIT. SOMEONE LET ME BREED AND TAKE KIDS HOME. HOW THE FUCK DID THAT HAPPEN?

Today, as I was driving the Mini-Van of Doom back from Santa Lucia Pizza (we just came back from Europe, and I haven’t done a big shop-up yet) I had one such moment. It went:

OH DEAR GOD ALMIGHTY. THIS IS WINNIPEG. I LIVE IN WINNIPEG. HOW THE HELL DID THIS HAPPEN? NOBODY REALLY LIVES IN WINNIPEG. IT IS AN IMAGINARY PLACE IN THE ATLAS!

*Cue extistential crisis*

Fortunately, shoveling pizza into my gaping maw calmed the intense, momentary panic I felt when my brain registered that I lived in Winnipeg.

No wonder I’m fat.

Author’s Note: When I was a child, we had a raggedy-ass navy blue Rand McNally atlas, and on the map of Canada, Manitoba was a pink province. When I was learning to read, I thought Winnipeg was the coolest name, because it sounded like ” Win a pig” and to pre-school me, that was pretty much as awesome as Moose Jaw and Yellow Knife. I hoped that one day I’d go to Winnipeg, so I could win a pig, and see the vast swaths of pinkness.

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