No sense of geography

I stole someone’s quote the other day when I said, “You want me to understand this concept? It took almost my entire life to comprehend the difference between Right and Left.” For the past twenty-seven years, she’s been trying to teach me the spinning egg trick. If it doesn’t spin, the egg isn’t cooked, and Visa Versa. Does this mean that gravity doesn’t like sloppy eggs. Density and force have to play factors.

Science isn’t what keeps me from spinning eggs. I just don’t want to. I’ve seen other people’s eggs to see them dated, though that was all about the birth of the egg not the death.

Knowing my right from my left has come in handy when I am following instructions, but left to my own devices, I am almost guaranteed to get lost. Eventually a landmark would introduce itself to me. Or I’ll plug in GPS, a beacon to home. I wanted to keep the word beacon since that was my original misspelled word. Trying to over ride muscle memory takes discipline.

Grammar and Geography have been my bugga boos. My insistence in keeping the word Bugga Boo lays down more proof against me. I live my life as if I were on trial, though I don’t know the charges.

Whatever happened to Ignorance Is Bliss? As soon as I was cognitive in that I get a choice, a say in my state of being. The jury is still out whether my say is final. I’m thinking not.

I do believe in the influence of energy that contributes to my motivation. Having a dreaming Ying Cat, all six pounds, holds me down better than rope or duct tape. Taking over my Core. Giving my Core away.

If this blog is too sappy, I can blame Ying. If you don’t own a cat, chances are slim that you are even reading this, and if you do have a cat, explanations aren’t necessary.

Another big Life Philosophy I picked up early in my years is that lost is a state that doesn’t exist. Just because I didn’t know where I am, it doesn’t mean I am not supposed to be there. I’m not saying anything new; I’m regurgitating what I’ve picked up along the years. Bits of this and that have stuck to the walls in my brain. My problem in that arena is the retrieval system. I’m much more like a beagle than a retriever. I’ll be more than willing to get the ball or the frisbee or the stick, but I’m certainly not giving it up unless the reward is better than another throw.

My yellow Labrador Lovely Lucy reminds me that a hundred pound beagle isn’t as cute.

If my seatbelt, my writing muse has left, this must mean the meandering has hit another dead-end. The story of my life.

 

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