OK, it is possible to do a one-word post. (I guess titles don't count. )
I, on the other hand, suffer from hyperloquaciousness, and can't bring myself to edit DOWN to that level. So, y'all, break out the finger cots and squeezy balls, get those muscles pumped up for scrollage, for we've seen the last of the 3-paragraph posts around THESE parts!
Topics that were tossed aside today as "not worthy of a real post": the effects of antibiotics on the gastrointestinal system, why boys feel the need to dismantle things, transsexuals, period farts, and lipstick.
I am being the very model of restraint by not going into much more detail, much as I'd like to.
Let's talk about something else then. Something that won't offend the sensitive, won't reveal too much about my personal life, won't delve into why I'm fascinated with alt-lifestyles, or why, indeed, I can't find a single lipstick that looks good on me and won't make me look like a geisha or Kabuki actor.
That leaves, what exactly?
Work? Um, no.
More stories of unpacking? Hell no.
My past? Don't feel like going there today, though do remind me to tell you about how I spent my 30th birthday sometime.
My rich inner fantasy life? Do you REALLY want to know?
How this morning as I was driving to work I passed through drifts of falling leaves and wondered if the tree shakes them off or if even the most gentle whiff of breeze is enough to send the multitudes to the ground?
Because I had nothing else to think about right then and there, I started to think about what that would be like from the tree's perspective, like how maybe it would think "Jeez, you know, I haven't been able to see my neightbors and family CLEARLY for a while now, I think it's been since, like April, and it's high time I got all this stuff off my face. Lemme give a little shiver and see if I can't shift this stuff around so's I can get a look at Uncle Bernie to see how he's doing" and then the tree, somehow, does a little arboreal boogie-woogie and a whole bunch of leaves get dislodged and tumble down.
Then I wondered if maybe winter is a great time for trees, because they're all naked and stuff and can see one another without clothes. For months. Rowr!!
I wonder if they look around and pick out the tress in the neighborhood that they'd like to pollinate come Springtime, or start planning how to tip their pistils toward the hottie to the northwest to ensure a higher chance of insemination by such a studly specimen of treedom.
I wonder if those trees that self-pollinate are happier than the ones that have to rely on some other tree to do the deed. Like they'd be all "nyah nyah" come March, when their tender little buds open to welcome the pollen drifting down from high branches, sighing with woody satisfaction as the fertilization process begins. Or, maybe, is that like self-pleasuring to humans, very satisfying, yes, but lacking a certain "something" that a partner brings to the equation? Are the self-pollinators the uber-wankers of the forest?
I wonder, I really do.
I also wonder what happens when, once the leaves are gone and their vision has cleared, they get a good look around and realize that hundreds of their relatives (and perhaps a good number of former partners) have disappeared, and in their place are boxes of humans.
Don't you sometimes wonder too, or is that just me?