2020-03-03 A Monumental Day in SugarCookie History 💗

I have a myriad of topics I’d like to write about today. Which one will emerge as the winner is anybody’s guess. Perhaps I can dabble here and there and satisfy my want to think through a few things and not linger with too many words on just one.

Today is the two year anniversary of the day I swiped right on that picture of the man who would make me so happy and make feel like the luckiest girl in the world. It also happens to be the day we also started chatting on the bumble app, and had our first phone conversation, and oh yeah, met in person for the first time. Yes, all in the same day.

If there was one thing we both knew for ourselves and came to appreciate in the other person, was that we had spent enough time sorting out what we wanted and did not want in a partner. And though things moved fast, we were on the same wavelength every step of the way.

From saying “I love you”, to introducing each other to our parents and kids, to my spending all my parental kitchen passes living at his place, the timing was spot on. The first thing we did not agree on as far as timing goes was when to get married. If he had his way we would be celebrating our first wedding anniversary today. It’s true. This is the date he originally threw at me and at the time I was like “whoa there love, that’s like not even possible (it was October and we had not even officially moved in together). I put the brakes on and serendipitously discovered that palindrome date which was perfect.

We’re not really doing anything to celebrate. I actually think he might have forgotten but we’ll see.

My day today will be largely comprised of what I’m now calling household engineering. A fancy way to say that I’m cleaning litter boxes, taking trash out, going grocery shopping, among other random tasks. Our cat Doug has recently decided that he’s fascinated with water sloshing in the water dishes and pushes them all over the floor, spilling water everywhere.

This means that not only is the floor a mess (think water soaked cat food pieces floating in puddles) but also the dishes become empty and they don’t have anything to drink (except Emma who will drink from the toilets). It’s funny but also gross.

I bought this boot tray thing you set your wet boots on in winter to dry out and put the dishes on that. Now instead of the floor being a mess, the tray fills up with water and the stray food pieces disintegrate completely in a quarter inch of water. Also gross.

We’ve watched him do it. He’s completely mesmerized by it and does not seem satisfied until the dish is almost empty. He’s almost able to flip the dish over.

OMG… how I got from my anniversary to bad cat behavior is incredible!! In my defense, cats and their strange ways have become iconic. We started watching a documentary of how cats have taken over the internet. Memes, videos, Instagram accounts, hash tags. They are everywhere. We only watched about 10/15 minutes of the show because it wasn’t very well put together. And I don’t have any time for bad TV except of course The Bachelor.

Which I have to watch soon so that I’m not accidentally served a news story from Google spoiling the outcome of this latest season. The finale was last night.

The question now is, what’s more important: watching the show or getting my weekly submission in or editing the final 10 poems for my thesis or working on the new lit mag project or driving to Benson for burger wars today?

Those are my options when I finish with my household engineering. I will be editing tonight with my weekly writing group so I can probably use that as an excuse to cross that one off the list.

I guess we’ll just have to wait and see what emerges as the winner. My life is so exciting. 😜

I’ve got to cut here get after this taco Tuesday extravaganza.

Peace and Love,

~Miss SugarCookie

PS. Today’s featured image is a picture of some landscaping on the path outside our hotel room in Kauai. 

2020-02-19 Back to Basics with an Unexpected Twist

Dear Diary… How I have missed you so! It’s been several moons since we had any quality time together and I’m starting to feel anxious and nervous about our relationship. My biggest fear is that in my absence, you have started reading other people. Please say it isn’t so!.. /gasp /swoon

But seriously, since I started this blog 3 years ago, I don’t think I’ve ever been as absent from posting as I have been these past few weeks. It isn’t that I haven’t had a lot to write about. In fact, it is the exact opposite. So much so, that when I do put fingers to keyboard, I don’t even know where to begin. Kinda like right now.

First of all, my right ovary feels like it’s gonna burst at its seams. If ovaries had seams that is. In the wide world of everything SugarCookie, that is not where I expected my mind to be, but, alas, there it is. I’ve had many, many years to get to know my body well and don’t need an app to tell me I’m ovulating (though the Fitbit app does that now!). It’s true.

Last night I was so uncomfortable, I could not wait to change out of street clothes and into my pajamas. For a hot minute I thought I might be on the verge of some flair-up of my PCOS (polycystic ovary syndrome). Little cysts that form on the edges of the ovaries caused by hormonal issues. It’s a condition that I’ve lived with my entire adult life, starting with a fun little trip to the ER when I was about 18 when one of the cysts became so enlarged that it did burst. As far as I can remember anyway.

It could be I was just a wuss and couldn’t deal with the pain. I dunno, it was a long time ago. All I know is they prescribe birth control pills to squash the problem, which doesn’t really fix anything, it only masks whatever is causing the hormone imbalance by introducing more hormones at different times in the monthly cycle.

I don’t learn this until like 8 or 9 years later after I’ve been pumping estrogen and progesterone into my body for too long. This is one of the things that bothers me about medical treatment in the United States. The default is to prescribe a pill without really getting to the heart of whatever is the matter.

As an IT person who worked at a hospital for a long time, I’ve seen the registration and scheduling systems showing all those 5 / 10 minute time slots where the pcp is supposed to sweep into the room, learn what they need to learn, and provide answers and a solution. And people are generally conditioned to be ok with that. They just want to get that script and get on with their day.

Can’t sleep? We’ll give you ambien or Xanax.

Have aches and pains? Here’s a Muscle relaxer or prescription pain killer (though they are getting better about this one),

Have a hormonal imbalance? Here’s a birth control pill.

If I wasn’t just a kid and knew enough to do my own research I would certainly have refused that garbage. To be fair, at that time google had not been invented yet and it might even be that what I would learn years later was still in medical speculation and not widely accepted. It does take 20+ years for new information and treatments to filter down to standard practice.

The answer, for me, was working to take steps to rebalance my hormones. Believe it or not, it starts with eating healthy and getting more exercise. Everything is connected, you know and learning that part of my problem stemmed from my family history of diabetes was eye opening. It was through testing for fertility issues that certain facts were brought to light.

Once I had a diagnosis all I had to do was dive into research on that. I became obsessed with scrolling through chat boards and blog posts and medical articles. I found other people who were trying things and being offered alternative solutions with positive results.

One of the doctors I went to was an IVF specialist and that was the norm. I’m the one who suggested trying Metformin (glucophage) first. It’s a medication they give to diabetics. My dad takes it. He actually laughed when I told him I was taking it for infertility. He asked if he was at risk for getting pregnant. Ha!

Laugh all you want, but it worked. Of course I also started watching what I ate too. My diet had been crap up to that point and getting the fat and sugar and fast food in check, I am sure was also key. Between the Met and diet changes, my hormones started behaving properly again and I began ovulating again. Within about 6 months, I became pregnant. And I would never take birth control again!

As for this current discomfort, it’s probably just my bodies way of getting my attention, reminding me to get back on track with diet and exercise. I’ve recently been distracted with other priorities and strayed quite a ways away from my normal routine. That’s a good case for getting back on the daily treadmill/blog sessions. It’s a win-win-win.

Wow. That’s a huge tangent from where I thought this would go today. I guess that’s just where my mind wanted to go. 🤷‍♀️

Lots going on today. I’ve got my first official sesh with my MFA mentor this semester and I’m expecting a serious conversation that’s not very positive. I just have a lot of revision work to do and need to focus on details that I’ve been glossing over for too long.

In a way, this attention to detail and tightening my poems is exactly what I need (plus probably a kick in the butt to actually do the work), but it’s tough not to have high expectations for encouragement and support. Especially after my experience last semester which was so positive and productive and left me feeling fantastic about the direction of my writing.

I wonder how anyone can deliver a tough message and at the same time keep it from being discouraging. We’ll see.

Well, my friends, my hour here is more than over and I feel so much better than when I started. Like I said, it’s a win-win-win.

Cheers to Happy Hormones and Taking Control of your Health!

~Miss SugarCookie

2020-01-25 All About It

(not exactly the expected topic for today but a nice break from the cray-cray anyway)…

Today’s post is brought to you by Hoodie Allen singing his hit “All About It” featuring the impossibly incredible Ed Sheeran. It’s the song that inspired my purchase of the album “People Keep Talking”, which is not my typical type of jam and yet I love it so much!

When Hoodie comes up in the shuffle when the kids are in the car, they always say “It’s Hoodie Alien” cuz the first time they saw his name on the display they misread it. He’s been Hoodie Alien 👽 ever since. 😜

There’s this thing I do when I fall hard for a new artist. I hunt them down and find out where they are playing and I go there. I’ve had some epic trips that have sprung from this approach and it works great because of the travel bug I get from time to time. I’ve been to tons of local shows of course, but my more memorable concerts have been in red rocks in CO, Kansas City, and as far as Belfast in Northern Ireland (which was actually in Bangor but I stayed in Belfast and traveled there by train the day of the concert).

Anyway, when I started to be “All About It” with Mr. Alien, I researched if and where he was touring. As it turned out, he had a date in omaha and so I did that thing I do and buy tix on the spot. It was a Monday show in Benson if I recall correctly and while Monday’s would not be my first choice, it didn’t matter.

My mom was wanting me to drive with her to Broomfield Colorado the weekend before, but we would for sure be home in plenty of time for the show. My mom typically gets restless visiting my brother and his family and I knew she would be ready to roll first thing that Monday morning, giving me plenty of time once I arrived back in Omaha.

As it t turns out, she became more antsy than usual and ended up wanting to leave on Sunday. Fine by me! We packed up the car mid morning on Sunday and the plan was to hit the gas station and the Starbucks on our way to the interstate, which we did. We got gas and rolled into the adjacent plaza and I ran in to get my latte. By the time I came out, I could tell something was horribly wrong.

“The car is acting really strange, idling really rough”, she said. I was taking the first turn behind the drivers seat and so I hopped in and started to pull out.

By the time I rounded the first turn out of one parking lot and Into a larger one, it was shaking really hard and then the check engine light came on. I pulled into an empty parking spot and turned off the car. The car was practically brand new and we were looking at each other like “what the hell”.

My brothers house was less than half a mile away so we called him to come get us and let him know what was going on. We then made calls to my moms insurance company and triple A. Since it was Sunday most auto repair places were closed but there was one that was open not too far down the road. We had the car towed.

Long story short, my mom accidentally put diesel gas in the fuel tank and they had to drain the whole thing and flush it out. Luckily we did not run it long enough to ruin the engine. Needless to say all of that took like a day to figure out and the only place that would do that flush was the Jeep dealership which wasn’t going to be open until Monday morning.

I ended up not getting home until really late on Monday and missed the hoodie alien show. Better luck next time!

Except there’s never been a next time.. I fell out of love with Hoodie and let go of ever seeing him play. Probably I was always more in love with Ed anyway, (who I did see in concert of course!).

Now every time I hear that song, I think of that not-so-epic adventure. True story. Ha.

That’s whole bit is a brief departure from all the wedding nonsense that is taking over my life right now (1 week to go! 😱💍🎉)!

I now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

😘😘

~Miss SugarCookie

2019-12-13 Island of Misfit Divinity

When I was a wee lass my grandmother (my mother’s mother) always spent quite a bit of effort at Christmas time making cookies. It was part of her tradition and there was always a healthy spread of festive plates piled high with treats on card tables in the back room of the basement on Christmas Eve. The basement was the only room big enough to fit our family for dinner and year after year, the sequence of events didn’t really change much.

We would arrive close to dinner time. All the men would take seats in the living room where some sports ball event would be on the big cabinet that was a tube TV. All the women would congregate in the kitchen and dining room finishing preparations for dinner, my aunt Barb faithfully at the stove as it was her job to make the gravy which was the very last thing to get done. All the cousins would gather in the back bedroom. It was a 2 bedroom house with 1 bathroom on the main and that tiny back bedroom had two twin beds. That’s the room my mom and aunt shared growing up. It was a small space but somehow it was big enough for them and subsequently big enough for the 8 cousins. I don’t remember specifics of activities except one year someone brought a ouija board. Even way back then I was highly skeptical and didn’t believe in the validity of the messages that came through. I always wondered which one of my cousins was the faker. I’ll probably never know.

Once the turkey was done my grandpa would get in the kitchen to carve the bird. Apparently that’s was a man’s job. And after.. we would form a line around the dining room table where all the dishes people brought were set out and then the group would head down to the main room of the basement. The adults would eat at the tables set up in the main room in front of a fake fireplace (it was electric) and the kids would eat at other card tables set up in the unfinished utility room next to the ones with the desserts. There was limited space so even the washer and dryer were used for the overflow of cookie trays.

Grandma made batches of ginger snaps, fudge, sugar cookies, those disgusting coconut birds nests, peanut brittle, rice crispy marshmallow balls, chocolate dipped pretzels, peanut butter melt-aways, and my very favorite.. divinity!! It was my favorite because of course it’s basically pure sugar. She would always press a giant ugly walnut into the top while they were still soft and I had to pluck that out and sneak it into the trash but other than that, they were perfection.

I was in high school when the traditions started to fade and my aging grandparents could no longer host the event. It was really the last time that side of my family would ever be together as no-one took on the task of playing host. The cousins grew up and some moved away and of course some started families and created new traditions.

I have a few faded memories that linger.. my uncle Chuck putting on country music after dinner when we all moved the tables and chairs and he tried to teach us how to two-step. We also sometimes played games after dinner like twister and of course the part where we exchanged gifts.

Someone once told me my grandpa wore a cologne called Jade East and the fancy stuff could only be found at Walgreens. I got him some every year. I’m sure it was terrible and thinking on it now it’s possible he had a cabinet full of unopened bottles, though when he opened it he would always smile and thank me.

As it is with the past, there are always some not so great memories too. I remember being in high school and still sitting at that kids card table in the back room when my cousin, who was the same age as me, got to sit with the adults. It was always clear who my grandmother’s favorites were and I was not among them. They spent way more time with grandma than we did. And they had money and nice clothes and I was the shy, smaller girl who lived on her cousins hand-me-downs. I never voiced my feelings.

Anyway, at some point it was decided that all those cookie recipes would be collected and put into books and distributed to the family. Women only of course as that’s still just how things were. Finally I had the secret of divinity in my grasp and could carry on the tradition. Or so I thought.

What I found on my first attempt was that there were secret ingredients which I did not have the key to… temperature and timing. I knew the sugar had to boil for a certain amount of time but I didn’t have the first clue what that was. At that time, I could still ask.

I made a special visit to my grandmother’s house where she showed me the secret. She was able to tell the sugar was ready by running a spoon of it into a stream of cold water from the faucet. If the ribbon dripping off the spoon turned to “glass” and was easily cracked into hard pieces, it was ready to mix into to fluffed egg whites.

“It’s as easy as that” she said and told how when she was 10, her and her siblings would wait until their parents would be distracted with business on the farm or other errands and they would sneak into the kitchen at the farmhouse and whip up a batch. I remember thinking that if a 10 year old girl could make this treat that I certainly could too.

I was proved wrong time and time again. Most of my attempts turned into gooey messes and flat sticky pancakes of taffy that never “set up” or hardened into the fluffy yet dense texture they were supposed to be. I pretty much gave up trying. My grandmother is long gone now and I’ll never to be able to ask her about that I any other stories from growing up on a farm. It’s sad to think about what has been lost from that generation. Unless we tell stories, the history of it just fades away.

With my current plan to try and be a different cookie every day from now until Christmas, it was only natural that Divinity would find its way into the mix. So today it is!!! And to put an exclamation point on it, I decided last night to try once again to make them.

This time, instead of using the recipe from my grandmothers cookie book, I consulted the internet. I found a recipe that had 5 stars and got out the ingredients and supplies and got to work.

Now I mentioned before that some of the magic had to do with timing and temperature but what I was still missing was a better measure of patience. Instead of constantly testing the boiling sugar for the right done-ness, I used a candy thermometer and waited and waited with my high-speed mixer and bowl of whipped egg-whites ready for the exact moment the temp was 260 degrees Fahrenheit or “hard-ball stage”. Miraculously, that the trick!!

I slowly poured the hot liquid into the egg whites while mixing at a high speed. Then, working quickly because the mixture starts to harden as soon as the mixer is off, I dropped heaping teaspoonfuls onto wax paper. I was truly amazed that they actually looked close to what I remembered having as a child. Of course, I left off that last step with the walnut (and did not put any nuts in actually as most store bought divinity has).

I even had enough “batter” left to try and mix in some cherry pieces which was something the internet recipe suggested. However I made the mistake of adding too much cherry juice and that made the mixture turn back into that gooey substance that never hardens. Even now, the morning after, they are still sticky to the touch.

Anyway.. so that’s the very long, winding tale that led to me finally meeting with divine success. Now I have about 2 dozen cookies to share. They aren’t pretty.. as my dropping technique still needs some work, but they have the right taste and consistency. I’m going to surprise my mom with some when I meet her for lunch today. Hopefully it will lead to some good conversation about her childhood. I want to hear more about that while there’s still time.

In the Mood to Reminisce,

~Miss Divinity

2019-11-21 Turn Left at Uncertainty

Let me start by saying this has not been a happy day and this will not be a happy post, if you have (like I have) had enough of just feeling shitty today, then best just skip this one. My feelings will not be hurt, because my feelings are already hurt. I’m sure the sun will come back out again tomorrow or whatever.

In about 73 days I’ll be celebrating getting married with a few of my closest friends and relatives and also my new family. I’m sure it will be a happy time, but with some unfolding events in this past week I can’t help but be reminded of where I was at in 1993, preparing for my first rodeo, as it were.

But hold up – this isn’t about then, this is about now. It’s about friendship and holding on and letting go. It’s about giving the benefit of doubt and trying hard to stay connected in a world where the over-connected nature of things make all interactions feel a little shallow. How well do we really know people and even when we know them do we really know them?

The detail behind these questions comes from a place of such doubt. I’ve got a friend who I have known for about 15 years and she’s recently disappeared from contact. We don’t see each other often, but I consider her one of my people. We go to lunch about once every couple of months – that’s our thing. I should call her, but I am afraid that her non-responsiveness over text is supposed to be a sign that she no longer wants to have anything to do with me. This makes me very sad and I am scared to call her because I don’t know what will happen. I hate feeling rejected. I’m sure (or hoping) it has nothing to do with me but what then?

The second instance is my other friend who I have known for 9 or 10 years. We have recently been trying to make plans to get together and it just never seems to work out. Too busy I suppose and I’m half of the problem but now she’s not responding to text either. Again, I feel like I should call but can’t seem to dial the phone. Maybe I hate the phone. Maybe I’m scared of more rejection.

The third whammy came last night when a very dear friend of mine, who previously agreed to marry me (as in officiate my wedding), let me know it was too overwhelming and she was going to have to back out. I was disappointed as an immediate reaction and let her know right away it was totally fine and that I understood and that I still love her. I mean, it is a big deal and all and I don’t want anyone feeling too much pressure. But still, after having about 24 hours now to think on it (and also start googling for other options), I realize I’m just sad about it. I really don’t want to have some stranger marrying us. I knew it would feel more special if those I love were involved. As it is, we don’t have a bridal party so I’m feeling kind of alone on this bridal island.

It’s just been a rotten few days since the invites went out and I’m wondering now about anyone showing up. Perhaps I will get no RSVPs or people will just politely decline.

25 years ago when I got married, I sent invites to a bunch of my classmates I had been going to school with for 2 years who I thought I had formed lasting relationships with and not a single one of those people showed up to my wedding. After the excitement of the day settled into the rear-view, that really bothered me. I guess it still kind of does actually as I am still thinking about it now. Of course, about a week after I got married, I drove off to Vegas to live with my husband just outside of Nellis Air Force Base and never saw any of those people again. Like “poof” two years of bonding over assignments and late nights in the computer lab and ping-pong in the cafeteria, and hitting bars around town to play pool and darts and not drink because I was only 19. All gone.

I’m going to see a famous slam poet tonight, Buddy Wakefield, and Jim can’t go so I had to hunt around for another date. Thankfully my sister is able to go and that made me feel a little better. I’m just not sure what to do about these other friends. I dunno. Wait until tomorrow I guess and maybe then the sun will come out. Probably.

Flame Off,

~Miss SugarCookie

2019-11-08 All Backstory and No Conclusion

This week I have disparate assignments. Comments from my mentor on my 3rd big packet of work came back and along with a ton of great feedback was a statement something like, “you’ve earned the right to have a blast with packet 4. Write what you want.” However, I’m still in class and getting those very specific prompts and instructions to write in a very specific way about the subject at hand. What’s a girl to do?

My answer is of course to split the difference. Half of what I write will be the freeform fluff that comes to my brain and the other half will be attempts at completing those pesky, yet quite reliably fruitful assignments.

One of the prompts was basically a repeat of the one earlier this semester where we were to return to the most painful moment of our life and write about it with a new lens. No thanks. Been there and done that and I’m not going back again. Not this time. Which leaves me with only one other prompt which was entirely new.

It’s a long one, but summing up, We’re supposed to put ourselves in a situation that is completely out of character, that We would normally never do, and then record all the results of the experiment. All the sensory input and reaction, other people as well as our own. Obvi it’s supposed to be something that makes us uncomfortable. After that, we take our notes and write some bad-ass poem. Yup. That about sums it up.

When I think about where I am this weekend, alone and left to my own devices, it’s like the universe is pushing me very strongly in a particular direction. I mean, I’ve got from now til Sunday afternoon free and clear for whatever I want to do. It’s ripe with possibilities. AND (and this is a big and deserving the all-caps) it’s also Barcamp weekend. Hold-up.. what??!

Rewind. Barcamp is a conference where a sizable group of people come together to listen to other people give mini-speeches and presentations about their passions— cool tech info, new entrepreneurial endeavors, interesting hobbies, ideas, just whatever. There is a focus track for tech and also those movers and shakers and makers, but there’s also a kitchen sink track which is open for any topic. That’s where I’m going to try and fit in.

Yes.. my plan is to speak at barcamp this year. The sign ups are day-of and you only need a ticket to get in, so very little planning in advance is required. That’s part of the appeal and also, for me, the sheer terror. Thinking too much in advance about it has caused me to chicken out in the past. But now.. I’ve got a prime directive and it’s perfect for my assignment.

Did I mention Public speaking terrifies me? It’s pretty common I guess. I heard once that most people are more afraid of public speaking than dying. Yeah.. that. To make matters worse, I’m not going in super prepared. I mean, I have a topic but it’s just going to be me up there talking. No PowerPoint presentation for distraction, no guaranteed plants in the audience to laugh at my jokes or ask pre-planned questions (The universe better save me if I run out of things to say and it falls into a Q and A!).

Good Gravy I’m starting to sweat just thinking about it. The thing I’m 100% certain of is that I can do it and I will not die. The best I can hope for is to not make a complete fool of myself and come away with some good starter material. The worst? That it will qualify more for that first prompt, the one about the most difficult moment of my life, than the second. 🤪

That’s it for today kids. The title said it.. all backstory and no conclusion. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow for that (as long as I don’t actually die).

Peace and Love,

~Miss SugarCookie

2019-11-02 Counting Down with Mario

About a month ago I had a migraine. That happens. Later I was lying on the couch or in bed and Jim was sitting next to me or laying next to me or just next to me. I was holding my head and thinking of something from my childhood. Childhood being anytime before the age of 25. Back then I had headaches too and sometimes they were bad ones. Sometimes they were worse than that. I remember I used to hold my hand up to my left temple, as that is where the pain always seemed to congregate, and for some reason the placement of my hand, the palm to my fingers pressed across my forehead seemed to make the pain a bit more tolerable.

Likely, this was a figment of my imagination or some placebo affect I created in my head in order to make myself feel like it was feeling better for my sanity if nothing else. I remember this fine detail about my childhood because I made up a little story to go along with my little headache distraction trick. Whenever I placed my hand to my head and held it very still, another layer of bricks were laid there. The pounding in my head was our dear Mario with his mallet just doing the thing that all good Italian plumbers do, hammer away and make big messes (and sometimes crush boss fights).

Our fateful hero Mario would be hammering away at the inside of my skull in his classic red shirt and hat with blue overalls. Every smash through a layer of Brick made the pain worse and every layer of brick that I could lay with my hand holding my head made it better. I can’t tell you how many times before I discovered the miracle of modern medicine that I laid there for endless minutes watching this scene play over and over in my head. The bricks were mostly red bricks but sometimes they assumed the shape and color of blocks in Super-Breakout which we also had on our Atari 2600.

In those instances, Mario transformed into a small white bar inside of my head returning a tiny pixilized white ball to where the rainbow of bricks were stacked end to end vertically from the top of my forehead down the inside of the left side of my face. Always the left side which is really curios. If I trusted the internet I would google if there is significance to that, but you just can’t trust any search engine these days. Criminals with they proliferation of keywords has taken over. The anonymity of anyone posting almost anything has created a chaos in which there is no longer trust that any verified truth is actually true. It’s a damn shame.

Anyway, so I told Jim this story about Mario and my head and how I kept on doing it long into the years when I took meds for my migraine. How I lay there with my hand on my head waiting for the mix of Excedrin and promethazine to knock me unconscious enough that the pain was rendered powerless. Jim said “wow, that’s a great story, thank you for sharing that with me. Probably shortly after that I fell asleep because that’s the only real experience that cures the pain.

A few weeks after that, I woke up one day and decided my left brain needed a name and it’s no surprise I thought of Mario right away. That persistent little scoundrel had earned it! Of course being of a whole sound mind and body this meant my right brain needed a name too. Again, I’m transparent and predictable and enjoy puzzle pieces that fit perfectly as much as anyone so it had to be Luigi. Yup, that lovable sidekick whose green and blue are the perfect comic relief, the perfect partner in crime, the most appropriate taller Italian to compliment my left-brain Hero.

Now whenever I think about my left brain thinking in a certain way— logically or methodically or organizationally or in a sleuthy sort of way inside I say “That crazy Mario is at it again”. And then if I’m trying to apply my right brain, in an artistic or observational or sensual sort of way, of course I say “That’s Luigi hard at work writing all the poetry again”.

So today when I thought about the date, November 2nd in the year 2019 (11022019) and thought about it in a significant way, I realized that it was exactly three months until my wedding day (02022020). Earlier this week it was exactly 100 days. What’s next? Tomorrow will be exactly 13 weeks away, which seems sort of unlucky. That’s Mario though.. always working the numbers.

I wonder what Luigi thinks about how much time we have left before that very numerical day?

Game On!

~Miss SugarCookie