I’m a smart person, but part of me is stupid.
Or maybe it’s not part of me – maybe it’s just living inside me, like a tapeworm. Except it’s a brainworm. And instead of eating my brain, it feeds my brain, with stupid ideas I know are wrong but somehow still think are true.
Does that make sense?
Here are some examples:
Later, I will feel more like doing that thing I don’t feel like doing now.
There’s no way that’s ever going to happen, but I still shelve work, laundry, thank-you notes, and, again, work, with the notion that I’ll have a “second wind” and get everything done at 11pm. And then when I’m too tired at 11pm, I watch TV instead, thinking I’ll wake up the next day reborn as a “morning person” who greets the day with a surge of boundless, do-it-all energy.
I don’t need to write it down. My memory is as good as ever!
“Thank you for calling Carmel. To modify or cancel your reservation, please enter your confirmation number and press pound.” Durr…4-something? There was a 6 in it. Dammit.
There are ghosts in the basement.
The doorman told me so. He said that since 1950, 6 different people have committed suicide in our building, and now they haunt the garbage, storage, and laundry rooms. But why down there and not in the comfort of their old apartments? Maybe they’re having group therapy. Those things often go on in basements.
Whenever I wash clothes or take trash down at night, I run like hell back to the elevator. But then the elevator freaks me out more than anything, because it has a window, and when I’m waiting for it I think my own reflection is a ghost inside the shaft.
Also, I saw a water bug scurrying across the concrete floor and thought it was a shape shifter.
I wish the doorman had never said anything. Please, stick to telling me which celebrity just walked by.
I’m not going to catch a disease from getting a pedicure at the place on the corner.
I don’t see them sterilizing the pedicure equipment, but I’m sure they do. It’s the law. Just because the leather massage chairs are really dirty doesn’t mean they aren’t careful about spreading fungus!
True, I have a friend who got a heart infection from a pedicure and almost died. But she must have had a weak immune system. I don’t get sick a lot, so I should be good.
One day, I will be enormously rich.
I’ll be one of those people who never has to fly in coach again. And I’ll buy Lamborghinis and vacation homes – nay, estates – for my friends and family. That’s right, I’ll be MC Hammer rich, except without ever running out of money and having to go on a VH1 “celebreality” show.
I sometimes imagine this windfall happening by lottery, despite two key facts:1) I’ve never bought a lottery ticket. 2)You have to be in it to win it.
Other times, I think the mind-boggling wealth will come from something that I create: a brilliant idea that gets turned into a movie, that gets turned into a TV series, that gets turned into a line of action figures, T-shirts, lunchboxes, bedding, charm bracelets, and tea cozies sold on HSN as well as at Target and other big box stores.
I’m not talking about something I develop and perfect over years of struggle. I’m talking about something that comes about in an easy, accidental way. On the news, they’ll say: “It started as a casual status update on Facebook. And now, it’s a multi-billion-dollar empire…”
During my lifetime, science will invent a miracle cure for hideous feet.
When that happens, I won’t need life-risking pedicures to disguise my feet as human. Maybe when I’m rich, I’ll fund the research.
If I complain enough, they will pass legislation to end winter forever.
Who am I kidding? Our nation’s lawmakers can’t agree on anything.
If I worry about crashing when the plane is taking off, we won’t crash.
Because that would be too much of a coincidence. I do always worry, and so far, it’s worked. Poo poo poo.
Digging into my face with tweezers is a good idea.
Yes. Going after a hair that’s not visible to anyone and that I’ll never be able to grab is always worth breaking the skin. Oh well, I’ll probably have a scar there, but at least I tried!
ps – nothing is more dangerous than a hotel bathroom with a magnifying mirror.
What does your brainworm tell you? Tell me the things you’re dumb enough to half-believe in the comments.