Mind Adrift
My mind wanders through inaneville when I take a 3-5 minute on-a-whim-shit , an unplanned evening, or late afternoon, shit, one that doesn’t need to be lured by freshly percolated coffee. Often, parading curiously through my weird ass brain is the origin of words: Who decided to call fluffy white squares marshmallows? Molestation, why marry “mole” and “station”, two perfectly independent, doable words and turn them into a big fuckin’ nightmare. Who was the decision maker behind that gem? Nomenclature screams mutton chops. One of the meanings of nomenclature is dictionary, vocabulary or glossary. Loving words, I should have an affinity for this one. I just can’t get behind nomenclature; it sounds and feels like decrepit, beyond repair, vintage furniture. And we all know how much Katie loves vinty everything. Last night’s on-a-whim-shit , my mind wandered, of course. What popped into my head wasn’t a word; it was a thought: I wonder what my psychiatrist looks like when he takes a dump.