rambling rosemarie

It is starting to be one of those days. I decided I wanted some mango with breakfast. All four of the mangoes I purchased were beautiful on the outside and brown on the inside. Next I thought a mushroom and spinach omelet would be nice and it probably would be if I had remembered to purchase mushrooms or spinach. They were on the list that I left on the island in my kitchen when I went to the store.  I never used to need lists so it's no wonder I forgot it. I am having to teach myself to write them. We'll work on taking them with me next.  I do have an app for that and it works great if I remember to use it. Maybe I just need a good cup of coffee? I have a K-cup holder next to my Kreurig, it's pretty handy when you remember to fill it. I went to the pantry,  opened a new box of K-cups and promptly returned it to the cupboard only I'd really opened the fridge and stood there for a moment thinking, "What's wrong with this picture?" I did a fairly good job

I haven't written in quite some time and I have missed it. Writing is therapeutic for me. It's a chance to give voice to the random inner monologue that swirls around in my head. Writing is safe. Safer than sitting down with a live body and having a chat at any rate. There's generally instant feedback and vulnerability when in person communication occurs. Yuck.  I have anxiety at the very thought. Relationships that matter scare me silly.  I can hold my own in conversation but to actually share the oddities that make me the woman that I am seems far too risky. If you really knew what craziness resides in me, you'd run for the hills. Well, maybe not run but you'd likely wonder if I had a few kinks in my slinky. I am good-natured about some of my quirks, even though they have been exploited by friends and family as a source of amusement.  Take my inability to drink the entire contents of a glass.  I used to drive my mother crazy because I would have an inch of milk