In a separate week, simmer stressful situation. Set aside to stew.

Spread minor disturbances in fresh week, adding a few each morning and afternoon.

Sprinkle 2 days worth of questions on top of disturbances.

Remove stressful situation from stew and distribute on top of questions.

Spread annoyance very slowly on top of stressful situation.

Slather exhaustion on top of annoyance.

Pour responsibilities over exhaustion and spread evenly.

Sprinkle remaining questions, adding ridiculous outrage, urgent requests and encroaching deadlines as the topper.

This can be served immediately before ingredients have a chance to integrate, or put on ice over night to serve cold the next day making sure to keep the layers separate.

Room temperature allows everything to grow just a bit of salmonella on the brain for that extra bonus flavoring.

It’s not the worst thing in the world to endure…

I have always believed that one of the few things that sets homo sapiens apart from other species is our ability to tell stories. We use stories to raise our children, interact with our loved ones and strangers, and pass down our history to the next generation of storytellers. We use them to entertain, excite and enlighten our fellow humans.

Some of us do it in a more factual way using bullet points and bar graphs. Others of us do it with less structure and more random flower power. Some rely on repetition or profound articulation or sheer volume of information. A select few like to combine all of the above into one large word stew.

The method of telling our story may be determined based upon the audience and what we perceive will be most receptive to them. Many times, the audience itself is determined first by the story-teller’s singularity of style.

Either way, the ability to communicate is a part of the makeup of all creatures – perceived senescent or not. But for humans – and, at least, most definitely whales – communicating in story format has got to be encoded in our DNA.

Why else my consistent desire to write about anything – and if you’ve read a few of these pages, you know I mean anything – whenever and wherever I can? I have written or attempted to tell “my story” in blog-form, poetry, plays, spiritual commentaries, group shares, analytical spreadsheets, character performance, grocery store clerk conversations, emails to my kids’ teachers, water cooler chit-chat, soccer mom associations and one-side, rear-view mirror defamation screeches.

Will all of these words stitch together to form a best-selling novel according to critics and Oprah fans? Probably not.

Will their amalgamation achieve an authentic and well-lived life worthy of its legacy?

I certainly hope so.

🙂

I may have written about the fact that quite frequently being a grownup is more like an out-of-body experience than it is my reality.

Throughout the day as I accomplish various grownup tasks and adhere to my responsibilities, the sheer act of going through those motions makes my soul float above my body and I watch myself behaving as some unknown adult crossing everyone’s t and dotting the rest of the planet’s “i”s all the while wishing I was flying fast and high on the neighborhood swing-set singing “De Do Do Do De Da Da Da” eating a free box of sno-caps and drinking an ice cold IBC Rootbeer.

Just sayin’…