Stupid Thoughts Come Out to Play

So I sat down to do Becky’s meme about stuff I need (i.e. what’s in my purse). I’d planned to do it last week, but then I ended up in the emergency room with a severe reaction to MSG (monosodium glutamate, for those of you who don’t know. Why is this obviously hideous ingredient still added to foods? Do you know how many people I know react to it? Even one of the nurses in the ER said to me, “Oh, I have terrible reactions to that stuff”) that was wearing an extremely clever and convincing heart attack disguise. Lesson learned: do not eat Asian food whose ingredients you do not know followed by junk food whose ingredients you do not know (no matter how delicious they may taste). Other lesson learned: avoid the emergency room like the plague, which it most likely is. I’m still waiting for whatever I’m sure I caught while there to make its appearance. And yet another lesson learned: it would be kind of nice to lie in a hospital bed for a couple of days, nurses taking care of you, if only they weren’t taking your blood/temperature/blood pressure every other second and saying, “Sorry. I know it’s been twenty hours since you ate anything, but the instructions say, ‘nothing by mouth’ until all the tests are done.” Advice to others: if you’re about to say to your spouse, “I think we need to go to the emergency room," stuff your face while your spouse is locating and putting on shoes, because once you enter through those glass doors, you will no longer be allowed to eat or drink a thing.

Anyway, back to Becky’s meme. It didn’t start out as a meme. She was just creating a brilliant blog post based on the contents of her handbag. However, she then invited readers to comment on the contents of our bags, and I found myself thinking, “Great blog post for a rainy day.” Well, maybe it’s the fact that it’s brilliantly sunny here, but this is not turning out to be a great blog post. You see, I’ve convinced myself that I’m a minimalist, and I just so hate it when the bold facts prove my convictions utterly and completely wrong. You realize I’m one who (despite always being drawn to them in shops) hates purses. I want to be hands free at all times. I’m just about to begin my grand lobby for more pockets in women’s clothing (the sorts of pockets men get to have. Why is it that men’s blazers have those wonderful inside pockets, as well as nice deep front pockets, whereas women’s blazers often have nothing more than decorative flaps where pockets ought to be?). I don’t want to throw my back out lugging around a scary, twenty-pound pocketbook full of useless items (and, I might add, one that obviously enjoys eating pens, because there’s nary a pen in sight when I need one, despite the fact I know I’ve thrown at least ten into it). I trimmed down last year, discarding everything but the bare necessities, swearing it would be something I didn’t even have to carry a good deal of the time.

I actually started on this post while lying in my hospital bed. I was worried that I might finish one of the two books I’d brought with me (yes, the only things I brought with me were my pocketbook and two books, which tells you just about all you need to know about me), so I decided writing might be a good idea, but I hadn’t brought any paper with me. Luckily, Bob had brought a whole bag full of stuff with him, figuring, I guess, he might end up having to write a sermon while hanging out in the ER for 72 hours, so I asked if I could borrow some paper from him. I began listing the contents of my handbag. I got to item #3 and began to feel a little faint. It must have been the lack of food and the loss of all that blood they’d taken. It couldn’t possibly have been that I was appalled by all the junk I haul around with me. I gave up.

Now, a few days later, I’m absolutely fine (well, except for being paranoid that there’s hidden MSG in every single food item in my fridge and pantry). I brought out my purse, started rummaging through it again, and realized it’s still full of junk (what? Those weren’t hospital hallucinations?). I just can’t bring myself to post on it all (maybe one of these days, but not now. I guess I’m not doing a very good job of embracing my inner Junkyard Junkie). So, instead of the stuff I need to have, I’m going to give you the stuff that fills up my brain (i.e. some really stupid thoughts I’ve discovered myself having lately). Meanwhile, any of you women out there (or men. I don’t want to be accused of being sexist, if you happen to be a purse-bearing sort of man) who might like to reveal the contents of your handbag/purse/pocketbook (see what a curse they are to me? I never even know what to call the damn things with my Southern/English/Yankee influences), please feel free in a blog post of your own.

And now, without further delay, Stupid Thoughts from Emily’s Brain:

Stupid Thought (ST): “Man, I can’t believe all these people out there who actually manage to write blog posts about every single book they read. I could never do that.”

Why It’s Stupid (WIS): I’ve been keeping book journals since 1999 in which I write thoughts about every single book I read.

In Fairness to Me (IFTM): A few scribbled pages to remind myself of how books affected me do not a blog make. Also, I only read about half as many books as it seems the average book blogger reads.

ST: “He’s going to visit New York City? He’s so Lucky!”

WIS: NYC is a day trip from where I now live. I could visit it anytime. You’d think I’d moved to Australia or something the way I act.

IFTM: Obviously, I’m adapting well. People in these parts think a half-hour drive is, if not exactly going to Australia, at least going to Europe.

ST: “That is SUCH a cool old house! I wish I lived there.”

WIS: I am living in an extremely cool old house. Most people who like old houses would love to live in my house. Oh, and when something goes wrong with the plumbing, say, as is apt to happen in old houses, and a hole has to be made in the dining room ceiling to get at the pipes (not that I’m speaking from experience or anything), I don’t have to pay for it.

IFTM: It would be much cooler if it weren’t on a busy highway right next to Bob’s church. This summer, we won’t exactly be sitting out on the front porch, cranking up Amy Winehouse, and getting drunk on mint juleps.

ST: “I wonder if The Library of America ever looks for new editors.”

WIS: I have a really fun job at a place of business that is as anti-corporate as a for-profit corporation can possibly be. My colleagues are extremely smart, funny, and nice. Oh yes, and have I mentioned? I get to work in my pajamas if I want.

IFTM: It would be fun to get paid to read all those classics all day long, and to choose which ones to publish, wouldn’t it?

ST: “I’d like to learn to knit!”

WIS: We’ve already discussed that, haven’t we?

IFTM: Little old ladies with arthritic hands can knit those beautiful sweaters. I most certainly ought to be able to knit more than four rows. I am not going to let two little wooden sticks with points and three skeins of yarn conquer me (yet).

I’m sure there are plenty of other stupid thoughts hanging out in popular spots in my brain, but they’re having too much fun to come out right now, so these will have to do for this post.