I remember the good old days when I would have Valentine’s as a kid.  You know where you gave everyone in your class a little cheesy card, and no matter how much you insisted to your parents you didn’t like sweets they would always get you a heart shaped box filled with chocolates that could be filled with anything…

…and I do mean anything.  It was like a Russian roulette chocolate game.  What will be in this one?  Something unidentifiable, something disguisting, or…no safe Carmel.  ”Would I like another?”  I’m sure I wouldn’t.  I’m sure I’d love to run around and be chased by a box of chocolates than to risk a fake coconut one that somehow always tastes how I imagine Aqua Velva tastes.

“Well, mom and dad, I suppose one more wouldn’t hurt since you want to all the trouble to buy me this nice gift.”  They look on smiling.

With carmel down, and no repeat looking in sight, I always risk a white one.  I have no idea why.  There’s some sort of unidentifiable red goo in it usually.  And it tastes, well, red.  Unidentifiable red taste.  Could be anything really.  Just red.  I try to smile and choke back the one tear that wants to fall in a reaction to the red.

I thank them politely, and offer up candy for them.  Of course they decline.  This one is all for me.

I glance at the box, after admitting “I’m sure I’d like one more”.

Here it is the last blind hope, that the odd shaped one will contain nuts, and it’s not just a mutant.  I really don’t want them to think I’m eating the mutant because I feel sorry for it.  Actually, at this age I hated nuts in chocolate, but at least it’s on familiar ground.  It does have an unidentifiable nut in it.  I have no idea what I have just eaten, but I hope it doesn’t stretch into a tree later.

And no, I never got the kind the kind that shows you the map of what you’re eating.  That either came later in life, or my parents were quick to pick out the one box on earth that didn’t come with a chocolate legend.

Three and your safe.  It’s time to excuse myself to the bathroom where I can hide for a while until the candy is forgotten.  Yes, it’s a childish trick, but I was a child.

Now that I think about it, court doesn’t sound so bad.

You’re favorite TBI writer.

WTF, you ask.  That’s a fair question.

Well any disease, bad guy/gal, universal deathly gloop, monster, demon,(the last three are simply known as different incarnations of the GOP of late) could be destroyed by attacking the actor in the rubber suit.  And no, the suit was not used for protection.

I figure just about all those rubber suit baddies were some rendition of cancer, autism, heart attacks, strokes, brain injuries, broken bones, any physiological or psychological condition put in some rubber suit form.  And through those shows we could kill them all.

Except for Chaka, even though we wanted to kill him at the time…really he is the precursor to JarJar Binks in annoyance value, just not as racist since he was blonde.

I figure,, that’s one of the reasons at least some of you know what I’m talking about.

We can’t cure cancer…though we might have cured AIDS for those who keep up with science news that tops 2011.  All that stem cell research everyone gets whiney about…it really can save lives.  You know, if we let people like scientists use it.  I’m not talking about monkeys typing out Hamlet .  I’m talking scientists.

I know I’m ready to run out and have an abortion just so they can harvest those cells.  (Some people actually believe this, if you are one of them stop reading this blog and run directly into traffic…do not pass Go…do not collect $200.  A straight header.  I mean, if you believe stem cell research will increase abortions, you will probably believe me.)

I will let you know if I get sued because the last thing some good samaritan woman read was my blog and ran directly into traffic.  I might even be a little proud.

You have to have some writing prowess to be writing about nonsensical rubber suits related to diseases, and still get someone to jump in front of traffic to help save the human evolutionary process…shit…take your kids too.  Damn.  Bet that was too late.  Orphaned children all over the world will hate TBI writers everywhere for forcing people to think or die.

Man, I wish that were a prerequisite to life.

Think or die.

Might be my new motto.

I had to find a utopian replacement for Santa Clause, God, and this Jesus fellow I was now suspect of being the Son of the baby, bunny, puppy killer.

There it was on my TV with my eyes a glaze.  Okay it was an American utopia, but a utopia nonetheless.  I was way too young to notice William Shatner, couldn’t and never could act.  Not to kind to his fan base either, I found out later, but it didn’t condemn him to the puppy killer of my previous icons.

Every weekday I would sit mesmorized in front of the TV for an hour…it was better than Sunday football ahhhh…Roger Stauback…Billy Bates…but those days are gone.  I can; however, watch Star Trek streaming on Netflix, but I know it will not live up to my childhood memory.  On a nuch less cool level I watch the A-team and Knight Rider.  NEVER watch those in rerun.  You will realize how bad your taste was.  Ehhhch.

I was by no means a TV watcher: Star Trek and football were my staples.  There were all these incredible things.  I watched my first interracial black and white kiss ever on TV, and you knew from that moment it was okay, because it was Capt. Kirk and Uhara.

(Sorry I grew up in the south we didn’t talk about such things.  Completely taboo.)

I mean who didn’t want to kiss Uhara?  I sure did.  Eh, probably makes a little more since, since I turned out to be a lesbian, but she was hot as hell.

Here are all these Americans with strange put on accents flying about space saving planets and people; but we had our evil nemesis too–the Klingons and the Romulans and later series gave us the Borg ( I still get goosebumps).

We were never quite certain why they were bad with their grease paint and pointy ears, but someone had to be the bad guy.

Good vs. evil in the universe where we always wanted good to triumph (our–American space voyages who happened to have fake accents and pointy ears).  It usually did, but sometimes life doesn’t allow only good things to happen to good people.  I mean everyone in a red shirt that wasn’t Scotty was doomed to die before the second commercial.  It was okay though.  They would be back on set for the next episode.

The sadder ones were like City on the Edge of Forever where Kirk fell in love with a girl from the past who had to die even though she was a great person, and her ideas were ahead of her time.  Yes, by God, I still know the names of the episodes without looking them up.  (Amok Time was my favorite.)

Why was Star Trek so popular?  Why is Star Wars so popular?  Why is Jesus to popular?  (I still question Santa Claus and think he had ulterior motives.  This whole Ho-Ho-Ho and children come sit on my lap was always a little suspect to me.

Kirk, Spock, Dr. McCoy, Luke Skywalker, Harrison Ford (and of course) Carrie Fisher; These were the right guys doing the right things at the right times, win or lose.  We knew they would fight to the end not only for each other, but for us too.  It was all so clear, we just needed to be gallant, courageous, with the right touch of temperament, and do everything to save our friends at any cost.  We had to be loyal, trusting those that in charge would save us all.

They usually did.

But just like Santa, Jesus, and God, none of them prepared us for the unfairness of real life.  I sometimes go back to my dreams of utopia where I thought everything could be fair.  It was before God turned mean, Santa Claus wasn’t real, which left my little girl mind a bit confused about this whole Jesus thing.

Star Trek didn’t prepare it for us either, but at least we had reruns and could pretend.  Reruns of the Old Testament.  What a drag.  New Testament doesn’t exactly leave one all warm and fuzzy either…well perhaps warm.

Why were there so many Star Treks and they are still making them.  We want that utopia in our future, we want it for our kids, and we want it for ourselves.

And some

My brain muddled through pancake mix (for some reason I always pick breakfast food for brain muddlement) as I tried to answer questions put to me, or even remember the question asked of me. I’ve been seeing this guy for a few months, so he’s got a pretty good baseline on me…meaning I’m not usually thinking through molasses. He’s like, “Hey your over-medicated.” I’m like, no shit Sherlock (btw non- sequitar throwing it out there: new Sherlock movie even better than the last).

I went from trying to keep my blogs down to 500 words, and no matter what I do I end up clocking at over 700 no matter what I do.
Right now I’m struggling to hit 200. Unless you can backslide on brain damage, which by the way, I really can’t unless I give working on anything and sit drewling over I Dream of Genie reruns (that one was always a brain drain).

Or maybe pull out those stupid cars that you rub on the carpet so they go real fast, but will NEVER go through the track loop no matter what you do.  I still want to know how they got that slinky to go down all those stairs.

Hmmm childhood issues I should probably let go of.

Think I’ll report on the syrup tomorrow…I’m praying for a light heated syrup day.  Maybe I won’t right this blog like I’m high.  Then again, maybe I will.

I actually slept last night.

I have discovered the ingediants to getting sleep for a night:

Don’t/can’t sleep got more than 3 or 4 hours for over a week.

Have 12 hours worth of panic attacks for complete exhaustion.

3 dunkin dunuts of your choice (it’s the secret ingredient they don’t tell u about).

Mix on high speed for a week.

Pinch of salt (even if u just throw it over your shoulder for luck)

Use excessive language in your last post because u r at the end of ur rope, leash, or other kinky apparatus if applicable.

Bed and pillows r a bonus, but sleeping from complete exhaustion does not even require a horizontal surface.

Purree.

And u will remember nothing.

SLEEP.

(driver used on a closed course)- I say this alot because it amuses me.

As does prognosticate. Just cause its a fun word and u can impress ur friends if u become a Soothsayer.

That’s what I wake up to, polyglot. Do I know what it means? I haven’t the foggiest notion.

This is my brain’s fun new vocabulary game it likes to play with me. I am not pleased.

I know that once upon a time in a university far, far away I knew what it meant.

Some people wake up with tormented tunes in their head: Puff the Magic Dragon, Genie in a Bottle, or that one song where you only know one phrase, “Well fuck you, and fuck her too” (Cee Lo Green) that you can’t possible ask a coworker what it is or where it comes from without a trip to HR to pick up your box to clean out your desk.

Puff is an easy fix. Just mindlessly hum it in a store or on the street, until someone picks it up, and then you have a successful pass off. You are free of the song.

Britney is going to cost you a little more pride. You’re going to have to listen to the song, and if you don’t own it, you will be forced to buy it off Itunes to add insult to injury. Additionally, for complete success you must listen to the song from beginning to end, or run the risk of recurrence.

Me. I got polyglot. It’s like a word of the day…except much more suck-a-licious. I’m trying to think through cobwebs. Why the hell would I even know what this word is? I don’t think I have ever even heard it.

Okay. I can’t just look it up. I have to guess first. Poly means many, but many whats? Many glots?

Is glot a throat thing? I think it reminds me more of glut. Gluttony maybe. Many Gluttonies. Suddenly my mind is filled with glutinous people eating McDonald’s from a feed trough. Time to slop the sows! A farmer shakes out the Big Mac and chicken nugget feed bag to the waiting grunting hungry throngs that begin to feed with their hands firmly tied behind their back.

Sigh. My amusement dies as quickly as it came. My brain has defeated me for today. I really have no clue. Polyglot.

I am fairly certain my definition is pretty far off, except for the poly part.

Dictionary definition: Polyglot knowing or using several languages.

Not even close.

During this fifteen minute mental gallop through my mind I’ve been trying to find my keys. I’ve pulled up couch cushions, checked impossible drawers, and flashed a light under the refrigerator. I am just about ready to break down and cry.

I find them…in my hand. I have no idea when I picked them up, or how long they have been there. I found them while carelessly twirling them around my index finger. I am just about ready to break down and cry harder

On a more serious note: to say I have trouble finding things is a understatement. Trying to organize everything I need for my day of unending doctor appointments is an unending nightmare. Even if I make a list, I will lose it giving me something else to look for.

It will be another twenty minutes of gathering keys (which for some reason I will always unconsciously put down a second time), my wallet, with ID for me and my service dog, the dog leash, poop bags, water and/or food for the dog. I will always forget food and drink for me, and my insurance card. I will check and recheck that I have all the necessary items almost to the point of OCD only to find out the missing paperwork I forgot to bring for some doctor at some appointment.

I come home exhausted and face plant across the bed. I don’t move for fifteen minutes. It’s only seven. Too early to go to bed, and I won’t sleep through the night anyway.

I glance at my calendar for tomorrow. Only three appointments tomorrow. I carefully put my keys in a place I am certain to remember them, which I will have forgotten by the next morning, and will be unable to identify them when I look directly at them anyway.

I sigh. Tomorrow will be a brand new day.

Exsanguinate. WTF is exsanguinate? My spell check doesn’t even know it. Why can’t I get periwinkle, or rhetorical, or collude? I can at least come up with what that stuff is even if I can’t quite define it.

Stupid brain. I really should be graded on a curve, and I’ve already lost my keys.

Tomorrow I think we’ll spend a little time on PTSD and TBI rage.

I’ve got two days to edit a tv pilot.

I’ve got to read two more romance books on the fly so I can learn the formula.

I’ve got a big meeting tomorrow over a reading/production.

But I’ve got a production of Social Darwinism coming up in March in Ithaca. I’m so stoked…and sometime in the next 3 weeks I have to finish a full-length play and write a book for a musical.

Help me. Send my successful thoughts…oh and I still gotta find out more about this friggin brain tumor.

I’m ready to take over the universe. I’ll be spending the weekend out of the old NYC. Yep. Gonna go sit in a hot tub, drink some wine, and chill with some friends. I love NYC, but to love it, ya gotta get the hell out of Dodge sometime (good thing I’m not writing westerns ya’ll).