The words wouldn't come this week. Some weeks are harder than others, and this one ranks up there as a real doozie. Maybe it's because I'm tired; the kind of tired that follows you around for hours and fools you into thinking you're not quite on empty yet, then jumps on you out of nowhere when you're not looking and wraps itself around you like a heavy, wet blanket.
I'm tired, but I still can't complain.
I'm sitting here at the hospital, next to my husband. He had surgery early in the week, and right now he is sleeping, something he has not done much of lately. But he's sleeping now and the sound of his soft snoring sounds like angels singing, I'm so glad. And as badly as I want to close my eyes, too, I can't because my mind won't let me. So here I sit trying to put words together to form sentences. And it just isn't happening.
So I think I'll just say what comes to mind, grab hold of some of those random thoughts rambling around in this big old head of mine.
"You don't have a big head," people have said when I make a comment about my big old, head, and I tell myself they're just being polite. I really don't mind. It just means I have a big brain.
Now I'm no fool. I know there are plenty of people in this world of ours who don't have much for brains, yet it still never ceases to amaze me when I see one of them up close and personal. Like the woman in the drive-through in front of us the other morning.
To be fair, this woman may be perfectly smart and eaten up with good sense -- she just may have been having an off morning. God knows I have my share of those.
But I can honestly say that I have never styled my hair with a hot flat iron while I was driving, which is what this lady was doing. Granted, she was driving a mile an hour at best through the drive-through line, but, still, is it really a good idea to even have a hot hair styling appliance in a moving car at all?
And if she's so comfortable riding around with hot electrical appliances plugged into her cigarette lighter, then why even have to stop for breakfast? Why not just hook up a hot plate and fry up some eggs while she's doing her hair and driving down Dawson Road?
Maybe she was out of eggs.
I once saw a woman driver putting on pantyhose at a red light. I guess I should have been pleased it wasn't a man driver. I don't particularly care for pantyhose, myself. They're uncomfortable, and they remind me of onions.
I've always heard if you put onions in pantyhose and tie a knot between each one, they won't go bad as quickly. I remember mama doing that once and me asking whose pantyhose they were and my brother telling me mama found them on the side of the road and they belonged to some old crazy woman who lost them and she was wandering around town looking for her pantyhose and she was going to be so mad when she sees we put onions in them and it freaked me out so bad I wouldn't eat onions for a while.
My brain hadn't caught up to my big, old head yet back then, I guess.
I haven't thought about that crazy old woman with the lost pantyhose story in a long, long time until just this very minute. Random thoughts, they can lead to the most peculiar things popping up.
But I feel better now, just a little bit. I'm still tired, and my husband is awake now. He didn't sleep nearly enough. Instead he wants to talk about what he'll eat when he can have solid food again and how good it will be and asking what I think we should cook.
I know one thing... I'm not cooking onions.
Contact columnist Mandy Flynn at firstname.lastname@example.org.