Thursday, March 25, 2004
Simple Minded
I am basically a very simple person, I think. Well, not in terms of psychology or sentence structure, obviously, but in terms of being very easily diverted by any flashing lights or shiny objects that happen to be in the area I am very, very simple. Seriously, I am amazed that I wasn’t one of those kids who fell down a well at the abandoned farm or got locked in a refrigerator playing in the dump. Or maybe I was; much of my childhood is a blur until about age three. But any potential brain damage I may have suffered is not the point. The point is that I have a childlike enjoyment of things.
For instance, today my amazon.com package arrived at work and you would have thought it was Ed MacMahon holding the big check. I was so pleased that my coworkers thought they might have to give me oxygen. I mean, granted, the previous highlight of my work day had been that no one had yet set me on fire, but two CDs and a big plastic mailing bubble should not send me into paroxysms of ecstacy. Although I do find that paroxysms provide an excellent workout.
Other things that bring this out in me? Bookstores, county fairs, Taco Bell. Other people’s pets. I suppose I’d better quit writing before I hit “long walks on the beach” and clearly fall in personals ad territory.
I am basically a very simple person, I think. Well, not in terms of psychology or sentence structure, obviously, but in terms of being very easily diverted by any flashing lights or shiny objects that happen to be in the area I am very, very simple. Seriously, I am amazed that I wasn’t one of those kids who fell down a well at the abandoned farm or got locked in a refrigerator playing in the dump. Or maybe I was; much of my childhood is a blur until about age three. But any potential brain damage I may have suffered is not the point. The point is that I have a childlike enjoyment of things.
For instance, today my amazon.com package arrived at work and you would have thought it was Ed MacMahon holding the big check. I was so pleased that my coworkers thought they might have to give me oxygen. I mean, granted, the previous highlight of my work day had been that no one had yet set me on fire, but two CDs and a big plastic mailing bubble should not send me into paroxysms of ecstacy. Although I do find that paroxysms provide an excellent workout.
Other things that bring this out in me? Bookstores, county fairs, Taco Bell. Other people’s pets. I suppose I’d better quit writing before I hit “long walks on the beach” and clearly fall in personals ad territory.
