Chasing Mice

For about five minutes I sit on the couch staring out in front of me. I then scratch my head and look down around my feet and stare at a speck on the carpet, then let out a long sigh. My husband who has been pacing back in forth, trying to get my attention, says to me, "Chasing the mouse around in your head again?"

He has such a way with words. He doesn't say much but when he does speak he uses his words with efficiency and very little waste, his arrow never misses its mark. I am envious of his ability. I never quite thought of it that way, but that is exactly what I am doing when I'm in my head. It's like a Tom and Jerry episode. Sometimes I catch the mouse, sometimes I don't. Even when I do catch it, it usually slips away to plan its revenge. The mice, of course, are my thoughts. So I say, "Yeah, that's exactly what I'm doing."

My husband rolls his eyes. He doesn't comprehend how someone can waste so much time just thinking. He's an action-motivated person who plans his day to the minute. I envy that too.

But it had to be this way, he is the yang to my ying or vice versa.

So here I am, chasing mice again. I usually reserve all my useless musings for a handwritten diary that I have kept since I was about eight years old. The oldest one I have laying around dates back to 1981, when I was 11. I guess I'm proud of that fact, but then I think it may be slightly narcissistic. There goes that mouse.

On this very cold December day, I have decided (as part of my procrastination efforts) to start a blog and go public. The idea came to me when I was viewing my sister in law's blog. For a while, my brother has urged me to start one of my own but the thought of bearing myself to the world was too much for me to... uhm ... bear. At this point so many people are doing it that I have justified this action by convincing myself that my humble blog will be lost somewhere in cyberspace and no one really cares about what I think anyway.

I took the day off from work to actually get stuff done. I have even devised an hour by hour schedule. My husband would be proud. But I'm already behind an hour. Right now, I should be dying the roots of my hair to get rid of any evidence that I am aging at a much faster rate than I am comfortable with. Where does all the time go? I guess I'll save that mouse for a later blog.