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Monday Non-Ballet Brain Dump

We’re going to Chicago this week for the long-time-coming finally-legal wedding of a couple of our dearest friends.

As such, I’m in Trying To Finish All The Things Before We Go mode, which is totally something I’ve caught from Denis*.

So today I have:

  • done yet more laundry,
  • completed the drawing part of a painting I need to finish before we depart (it’s a watercolor, so it’s entirely possible that I will be able to finish it),
  • initiated the packing-for-the-trip process (which I never, ever do this far in advance),
  • topped off the Tricross’ tires,
  • ridden the Tricross to the grocery store,
  • slayed the grocery run for the next three days (along with some extra food because I couldn’t pass up a really good bargain that I can freeze),
  • ridden the tricross home,
  • put away the groceries,
  • and started dinner prep.

I also had a complex internal conversation with myself about why we still use gender-specific insults even though this is the 21st century and the perceived gender of an individual has no bearing either on that individual’s ability to be a total jerk or the qualities of that individual’s jerkitude**.

Later I will finish making tacos and maybe begin trying to figure out how to set up a rooting dish for my pineapple.

I don’t know why I’m so into growing this pineapple all of a sudden. Denis suggested it when I told him I brought home a pineapple, and it just seemed like a really awesome thing to do. Meanwhile, a friend of mine on G+ has decided to attempt to grow an avocado from an avocado pit, and suggested that perhaps her avocado and my pineapple could be pen-pals.

I think that idea is so ridiculously fun that I’m just going to have to give it a whirl. First, though, I will have to think about what a pineapple would even write to an avocado***.

I am writing this brain dump thing because I find that doing this helps me feel like I’ve actually done something on a given day, which makes it easier to see that my mood disorder has not, in fact, totally torpedoed my life. Sometimes that’s hard to see.

I get that, like schizophrenia (to which it is genetically linked), bipolar disorder involves cognitive deficits.

This means sometimes my brain works better than other times. Right now, it’s not at its best (though I did, for once, remember to buy cookies for Denis). I think this is why sometimes it’s hard for me to imagine what I’ve done all day, which can feel … I dunno. Weird. And less than great.

So I’m doing this thing to keep a handle on my brain. So far, it does seem to be working.

That’s it for now.

More to come some time soon from Pineapple Paradise.

Notes
*Did you know that traveling like a grown-up is, um, transmitted by AHEM close physical contact? Well, now you do. #TheMoreYouKnow
**That said, I have noticed that the use of historically gender-specific insults is at least somewhat more flexible than it used to be, so … um … I guess that’s maybe one small victory in the fight against sexism, if not in the fight against everyone being jerks to each-other in other ways?
***Here’s a possiblity:
“Dear Avocado,
I am finding life in a dish with some pebbles and water reasonably acceptable, though far less fun than life in the tropics might be.
How is life in the dirt?
I am really bored so if you have any suggestions of video clips that might be relevant to my interests, please send them my way. Thanks!
Your friend, Pineapple”

More Small Victories (Now with More Pineapple Picture!)

Today, I butchered a pineapple. I ate some of it (it was absolutely delicious; the best pineapple I’ve had in years, in fact) and chopped the rest up into little chunks. The chunks went into a freezer bag; the freezer bag (perhaps unsurprisingly) went into the freezer. Soon, we will have delicious frozen pineapple drinks.

While I was butchering the poor, innocent fruit, I saved the top of it so I can try to grow a new pineapple.

Apparently, growing a pineapple takes a couple of years: but I can be patient, and it sounds like fun to try. Fun, at least, for me — the last time someone presented us with the gift of a plant (an aloe that continues to limp along next to my sink), I immediately asked, “What has it done to deserve this?”

Except for a brief stint successfully training bonsai trees from seedlings in high school, I have generally been horrible about keeping plants alive. So it’s possible that I’m violating some UN accord by trying to raise a pineapple at all. My theory is that the bonsais did well because they lived outside, beyond the radius of my plant-killing aura, but I have also failed at growing garden plants, so who knows?

Anyway, attempting to grow a pineapple is kind of like saying “I will still be alive in two or three years to see if fruit happens,” so there’s that.

I also did a couple of iterations of laundry and continued updating the books.

Oh, and I made lunch, thereby using up a bag of Lipton noodly stuff that’s been hanging around uneaten in our food cabinet forever.

A little at a time, I move forward.

If I was in a better place, I guess all of this would probably seem pretty minor. Like, “Big deal, you washed your hair.” (Technically, that was last night.)

But I am where I am right now, so all of these feels like it matters.

It’s my pineapple and I’ll grow if I … you’re right, that doesn’t even make sense. Sorry.

Tomorrow I'll add a picture of my pineapple-to-be. Right now, though, I'm going to bed.

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