Inner Doodles

I threw out all of the pomegranate seeds. An almost-new package bursting with luscious seeds. I ate a handful of them on the first day of arrival and then promptly forgot about their existence until today. "Best By 4-14." Eh... What does a "Best By" date mean anyway? Usually you have another week before the food is spoiled. I rinsed them off just in case. Threw out a couple of suspect ones and then popped one in my mouth. The tangy and cold juice burst in my mouth. Delicious. Pomegranate seeds remind me of gushers, except they are probably more healthy. Do gushers still exist? I popped a couple more seeds in my mouth. Burst. Crunch. Squish. Not bad. "Best By" date is not always right. I palmed the remainder of ruby colored seeds into my mouth and squished into all of them at once. I could feel the pulse of prosperity permeating my mouth. That is what they symbolize, yes? Delicious -- No. Fermented. Ugh. What did I do? "Best By" date was not incor...

My back aches from the old metal swivel stool I am chained to. Finally got new orders from base. I am now required to spend 8 hours in front of the communication box. Several hours pass while studying glitchy training videos where my questions disappear into a void. Another hour or two is spent writing papers that analyze the process and purpose of thinking. My main points circle round and round themselves until I stand up to stretch. Oof. My back won't let me stand up straight. I much preferred the early exploration missions where I got to walk and sit and think my own meandering thoughts. Now my thoughts are being forced back into a standard formula. APA, to be precise. I ordered a new stool. It has a cushion and the seat rotates with your bum as you lean in any which way. It is a sit-stand style stool. Say that five times fast. We are spoiled, really. Ordering whatever we would like with the touch of a button. Who from the early 1900s would ever imagine such a thing? My grandm...

I didn’t leave the house today. Not once. I read an article a while back that said we as a human race were grieving. Grieving for the world and the loss of human lives. Grieving for the loss of our so-called freedoms. (I am paraphrasing and perhaps sprinkling in my own opinion. I don’t remember the exact words.) The grief is sitting with me again. It’s not negative. Not positive. Just heavy. My school assignments are getting increasingly more difficult to complete. But I force myself to sit at the desk until they are done. It felt good when I finally got biggest one out of the way. Tried not to think about the many other smaller tasks that are due by Monday. Then found my brain counting them anyway. Letting anxiety show it’s ugly face. How dare it? I decided to play with Chief Mate in his Duplo garden. But my ideas are not always welcome. I was handed a guy. I wanted my character to be peacemaker, but “He can’t do that! That’s not his way!” How dare he? I put my guy in timeout an...

Walking up and down the aisles of a barren grocery store, I feel disconnected. From what, I can’t quite remember. I push the cart down one row, up the next. They all look the same. The Easter bunnies stare at me. Their adorable eyes mock and tease. Goofy teeth are garish in the fluorescent lighting. I want to squeeze them and bring them home. But I know better. I see dozens of untouched packages of dye for eggs that don’t exist. Seasonal items seem like bric-a-brac these days. Suddenly the aisle begins to shrink. The lighting dims and the grocery store is now a hardware store. Shelves of nails and the pungent and unnatural smell of fertilized soil in a bag. Lo and behold what do I see? A single roll of toilet paper staring at me. It is neatly wrapped in paper. The kind you begrudgingly put on the dispenser while using the restaurant bathroom because no one else will. Suddenly a second roll has appeared on the shelf. I tear up and gently place the two in my cart as if they might disap...

Conversations with Oliver. O: Meh. Captain Mom: Yes? O: Meeeeh. (paw protrudes at my face) CM: You have food. O: Mew. CM: It’s right there. (points to full bowl and food that has avalanched all over the floor) O: Meeooorwr. CM: ... O: (poke, poke) CM: How do your retractable claws not retract? (inspects dot of blood on arm, squeezes it to release bacteria - is that a thing? does that actually work?) O: Merower, mrrrrroooooow, meoooooowh. CM: (carries cat like a baby and places at the food dish) O: (sniffs overflowing bowl, looks up, eyes huge) CM: sigh. (places a solitary treat on the mound) O: (greedily inhales food while purrs erupt between crunches. food spills over the side, a byproduct of gluttony.) CM: (returns to book and thinks about the solitary treat and wasted food. there is symbolism there somewhere) O: (loudly licks his chops and then ever so daintily licks his paws). CM: sigh. O: (tummy rumbles) CM: No, no, no! O: (a guttural) chweth CM: (flies off t...

Please tell me we are not the only household losing our damn minds? Humor me, post something ridiculous that YOU have done. Pics, Poem, Flash Fiction Story, Interpretive Dance, and.... GO! END TRANSMISSION

Solitary Pajamas Apple muffins Cat fur Endless Music Agitation Donutless Numb Erik Estrada are ALL my friends School? Sucks END TRANSMISSION

The tree tops were lit Casting apocalyptic Glow of setting sun. Post your own haiku Include a picture or two END (of) TRANSMISSION

My focus has dusted the bathroom and cat is snoring in a pile of fur. I started a load of laundry and forgot the soap. I watched my neighbors move and my hair is dry and way too long. I wonder if the faucet is unclogged or if the package arrived yet. How many days has it been since the Dragon Prince started? Chapter 7 of my math book keeps going and I don’t remember where I put the mail key. I AM BORED END TRANSMISSION

The days are blending into one. It’s all one giant Groundhog Day, but less funny and with significantly less snow. Inner Beasts are itching to escape from every corner of our beings. I entertain Chief Mate and myself with acoustic jingles and spontaneous dance rap songs. Our own life soundtrack, if you will. I will spare you the recordings, although they do exist. Not sure what they will say about us when some future generation finds them. School has yet to formulate, but I have faith it will soon take shape. Many masterminds are working around the clock to make it happen. Math must go on. Reading must recommence. Science must continue to cause speculation. Art ... well you get the idea. Carry on, human race. END TRANSMISSION

The sun has been out for two days in a row. Virtual School begins today. Parents who are working from home, hang in there. This is uncharted territory for us all. Despite anxiety, grief, and other such discomforts, spring is still waking up. It is a new world. Let’s make it a good one. END TRANSMISSION

The creatures on this planet prove to be strange, but non-threatening. Exhibit A releases a terrible stench when agitated, but I believe it to be non-toxic. The creature in Exhibit B does not move even when the shiny orbed aliens come in for an attack. Chief Mate fended them off crying, “Save the frog! Kill the bubbles!” Life remains exciting despite confinement. END TRANSMISSION

The stiffness is setting in. My body won’t stand up straight anymore. Corporate wants things to go back to normal this week. We all know this is a feeble attempt to regain control. The definition of normal has shifted tremendously. Control is an illusion. My body aches. If you exercise, your brain shuts off the stress valve. A therapist once told me this. She said that when you exercise your brain is physically incapable of releasing stress signals and the exercise allows your body and mind to meditate. Imagine actually being able to let go of these plaguing thoughts. Even for just a few minutes. Watching a 17 minute math-teaching video in my swivel stool hurts more than you can imagine. I decided to humor my therapist. “American teachers teach to get the right answer.” Boxer shuffle feels good. “Japanese teachers teach to understand a math concept.” Punch, punch, punch, punch. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. “If we teach with next week’s test in mind,” Lunge, 2, 3, 4. “Students mi...

The enemy loomed above us. It surrounded us on all sides as the wind picked up speed. Its troops an assortment of colors and sizes. All oddly shaped as glistening orbs. We couldn’t escape. There was no time for a peace offering, they were upon us. Chief Mate acted fast. With no proper weapon at hand, he plunged his training sword into their hearts. The enemy exploded on contact. They were no match for his force. Blow after blow his precision impressed me. One exploded in my eye, but I did not fall. The enemy proved weak against our weaponry, though it is far from advanced. Chief Mate’s war cry reverberated off of the silent houses. “Yeaaaaaaaaagghhh!” echoed into the woods. Finally the last of the fleet floated off above the tree tops. A defeated retreat. Tonight we celebrate with mint milanos. END TRANSMISSION

This is my attempt to reach out to the world. For anyone listening, How are you holding up? END TRANSMISSION

Specimen C is out of food. She’s a very particular creature. Only eats wriggling things. I refuse to catch spiders for her. Crickets are sparse. I’ve enlisted the help of local inhabitants to dig up worms. Let’s see if she will eat them. *** Success! After letting 2 escape and 3 dry up, Specimen C has ingested 5 earthworms. Now let’s hope she has no reaction to this new and plentiful food. END TRANSMISSION

Squats. I am doing some today. After breakfast. The coffee is almost too strong. But who doesn’t need strong coffee when there’s no toilet paper on this half of the planet? We are the only part of the world without toilet paper, right? Only this ludicrous self-centered spoiled-kid-of-a-country side of the earth would ... Squats. 50. Today. Okay. At least 20. After home school reading. An unending song erupts from Chief Mate as he reads about tornadoes. His smile is infectious. He loves school. Kids love to learn. Even as the planet is falling apart. Kids are remarkably resilient. “I’m hungry!” He demands food. I’ll do 30 squats right after lunch. “Will you make me a sandwich?” Co-Captain Dad requests. Sandwiches are always better when someone else makes them for you. Piled high with spring mix greens, the bread squishes just right and the urge for a nap sets in. “Let’s go outside!” Chief Mate demands fresh air to squelch the Inner Beast. I MUST DO AT LEAST ONE DAMN SQUAT. To...

The slog of the weekend is over. Our “days off” amount to what, exactly, when the virus hangs suspended over our lives? Worry doesn’t take a break. It doesn’t “weekend to Florida”. It festers and prods the mind until 2 am. 3 am. I wonder who else is still awake. 4 am. Finally, my eyes begin to shut. My breathing slows. My mind... But Worry agitates and stirs me awake as dawn gently breathes into view. Morning me argues, “Sun isn’t fully up. I still have time to sleep.” Then morning me plunges into a deep sleep just in time for sunrise and Responsibility to press its annoyingly peppy weight on my tired eyelids. “Good morning, Responsibility, could you visit another day?” But it presses on. Today I have to get out of bed for the sake of routine. Home school Week 2 begins. I can’t let down the crew. END TRANSMISSION