While I was sitting here looking for hairs to pluck out of places I refuse to identify and thinking I need to put on a bra sometime before noon, I started wondering how I could possibly turn my limited life-living abilities into making the world a better place.
And then I realized those were lofty goals.
Because for someone who spends time looking for hairs to pluck out of places I refuse to identify, figuring out what to do to make the world a better place is really an unattainable goal.
Plus, I ran out of my ADD meds this weekend. If I manage to make it through today having put on deodorant, picking the children up from school, and doing something else I’m sure needs to be done but I can’t remember now what it is, I will have made my world a better place.
It’s a wonder how I was ever given that license permitting me to have children.
And without my precious meds, my easily distracted mind wanders to thinking about how much better this post would be if I were Amy Sedaris. That chick is hilarious. She’s so hilarious, I overlook her choice to work for a company that misspells the product she’s promoting.
[I'm looking at you, Downy Unstopables. Even my spell-check hates you.]
Amy Sedaris would be able to weave keen hilarity into the mind-numbing rambling this essay has become.
Because now I’m thinking even that weird kid on Victorious who carries a puppet everywhere he goes is funnier than me right now. I bet he doesn’t forget to fill his puppet’s ADD prescription.
I’m not even sure why this is even being published, but my *** friend alimartell says just to WRITE, so I’m just WRITING.
[***While writing this post, I couldn't think of the right word to describe how much alimartell writes, so like any good social media wench, I asked Twitter. What resulted is an visual explanation of why I can't get shit done.]
What’s that word that means that someone does something often and eagerly? #Thesaurus
— Angie (@alotofnothing) October 22, 2012
I may not be able to make the world a better place today, but I’m determined to get those errant hairs plucked from places I’m refusing to identify.