Rehab Anyone...

Rehab Anyone...

Ok I admit it.

I have tried to hide it for years but now... I admit it. I am coming clean.

I am one of those people, those very special people who... twitch their toes! I am a Toe Twitching-aholic.

It started in my infancy...  "Oh how cute" my aunties would exclaim, everyone oooo-ing and ahh-ing when I did it. The truth is... it isn't. Babies can get away with this abnormal behavior... adults even tweek the twitching toes, but a life of pain awaits.

For years I've tried to hide the fact that my toes twitch. I wear shoes. What goes on in shoes... stays in shoes. Plastic, canvas, patent or leather sheltered my feet and hid my toe twitching. I lived in fear of sandals... fearing exposure but now I'm coming out of the closet and away from the shoe rack.

It would be one thing if the world recognized that this is a disease and not a choice. It would be another thing if this was something people actually enjoyed. 

BUT no-o-o....

Late night TV shows only asks for stupid pet tricks. Daytime TV only deals with foot fetishes, while Prime time TV only shows dancing feet. The twitchers of the world are left standing out in the cold... toes twitching in helpless frustration.

In truth, I actually thought that I had outgrown my affliction. I thought that I was free of this mystery movement but late one evening, or rather early one morning, it came back to haunt me.

It was around 3 am when I awoke from a deep and rather erotic dream... screaming. Not the good kind of screaming, as from the activities of that erotic dream, but the other kind of screaming... from pain.

Seems my toe twitching caught the eye of my cat, who was a toe twitching hunter extraordinaire.

After I pried her teeth from my toe, I returned to sleep but never again did I sleep with the same sort of comfort. For in the back of my mind, amidst the cobwebs and dust of little use, I knew.

I knew that my toes would twitch again. I knew that my cat would be waiting... again.

I wonder if out there somewhere... there is a Toe Twitchers rehab just waiting for the likes of me. Who knows... maybe amidst the pain and suffering I could learn to improve my golf swing, get some autographs and meet some politicians. Hmmmmmm maybe I've been looking at this the wrong way... I could be Toe Twitching with the stars!

Rehab anyone!!!!?

Memories, fact or fiction...

Memories, Fact Or Fiction

Yesterday I spent the day looking at pictures. Old pictures from almost a million years ago... or so it seemed, as these photos were before the Internet.

I was one of those people who always planned on getting organized and put my photos in an album. I was also one of those people who never did. My photo storage consisted of a big cardboard box. I've always been big on boxes.

I even had lofty goals of scanning and filing in photo programs I bought, I've always been big on photo programs, but I never did. I was always too busy on the Internet.

I sorted through the box, looking at the fading photos, creating piles. I'm big on piles. Each pile pertaining to some aspect of the past. 

I was looking for photos to illustrate stories in my other blog. I'm working on being big on blogs.  http://www.amostunlikelycowgirl.blogspot.com

That's when I learned that my memories and my photos... 

...well, they didn't always agree.

Each photo I picked up evoked a long, thought induced trip back in time. Ahhh yes... I remember I'd sigh... deep in reverie, but then I'd look at the picture and I was wrong. I sometimes had people in different locations or locations with different people.

Hey what gives?

My memory and the photo facts were at odds and in some cases, at war.

So what was really true? I'm big on truth.

The more I thought about it the more I realized a fact. Pictures are static chronicles of a single moment in time... memories are a collection of photo moments, all woven together in a colorful storyboard and some of those storyboards are for cartoons. (I'm big on cartoons.) Like the Panorama photo programs for your computer, sometimes things get blended or smudged to make the final product.

So my memories were... smudged. I'm not big on smudged.

As I looked at the fading pictures I remembered both the moment and the memories. 

I remembered the moment in sharp detail (like wearing glasses) and then the memories in a warm glow (like having that 2nd glass of wine). Each in its own way poignant. 

I remembered the people and how they once were (I was thin and didn't use Clairol), some moved away, some passed but all forever captured in memory. I remembered places which have so changed over the years (before it became a 4-lane), I remembered the kids who were now grown (when they were little and cute), I remembered the clothes (yes we actually wore that), the music (it's not noise), the cars (big fins rule!) and I remembered... the times.

My simple job of getting a few photos became an all day event as I traveled through time. It was the best trip of my life and one in which I didn't need reservations, plane tickets or a change of clothes... and yes, I really was that thin! I'm big on that.