Petty Distractions

Church today was good. Until I found my sister staring at me oddly.

It was then I realized that shiny objects, conversation and life in general had once again interfered with alleged normalcy.

I had only applied mascara to one eye.

Sure. Go ahead. Laugh until you fall off of the side of the bed, will ya...

Truth be told, she peered intently at both eyes and said "Are you SURE you put any mascara on EITHER eye?"

And I cannot honestly answer.

My attention was diverted.

I'd like to say my attention was diverted by some heroic lifesaving moment where I pulled an entire orphanage from the fire and stared down the flames.

Or that I was swayed from my stated task of making myself resemble an adult female dressed for church by some phone call of a pressing international crises that needed my personal touch to resolve.

It wasn't even as mundane as toast needing to be rescued with a fork.

Nope.

Just stray thoughts and conversation is enough to send my thoughts and purpose fleeing from me like rich people from a slum.

Face it. Pinpoint thoughts and straight line actions are not at home in my brain. They are unaccustomed to the lack of focus, the squalid conditions of odd bits of emotion and strange ideas tossed about in haphazard fashion and the complete lack of a mental road map.

Sadly, I honestly must report to you that I have left my house in a nice pair of slacks, attractive sweater, face full of makeup and cheetah skin slippers.

What a fashion statement!

I don't mean to forget what comes next in the path from A to Z, but I am a lot like the pathetic story of Tootle the train who can't remember just why it is that he must stay on track.

Funny thing is, I recall hearing that particular phrase a LOT in my childhood. Blatantly attached to the 'Train to Nowhere' phase of my life, my teacher reminded me that if I didn't/couldn't/wouldn't stay on track that I would become a dreaded 'Caboose' in life.

Bringing up the rear in a dizzy confusion more than likely with only one eye made up and wearing my cheetah slippers, I am a caboose.

I used to be ashamed of that notion.

Today I'm not so sure.

When was the last time you heard people say that crazy people had stress?

Sign me up for the nut house. I'm ready for a reprieve on stress of all kinds.

But would some kind and focused person make sure I look decent before the men in the white coats come to take me away...?