An imaginary conversation about bubbles

It is really hard to take a picture of a hand holding a bubble wand sticking out of a car window on the freeway.

I suppose it…wait, a what now?

A hand. Holding a bubble wand.

Going down the freeway.

Yeah. Blowing bubbles.

Uh. Bubbles?

Out of the passenger window of a black SUV.

While you were in your car.

Right behind their car.

And you were driving.

Who else would have been driving?

And so your first reaction was to take a picture. While driving.

No. My first reaction was to stop crying and laugh because the bubbles were so fucking adorable. Taking a picture was my second reaction.

I don’t even know what to say now.

I know. It was pretty cute. You should have seen all the bubbles.

No, I mean about the crying. Or the in car photography.

Oh, I cry on the way home every night. You should be more worried about the in car photography. And don’t sigh at me.

You make that challenging.

Anyway,  traffic started to move so I immediately put my phone down.

Immediately? No you didn’t.

Nearly immediately?

Maybe.

Well, anyway. I put my phone down.

What’s the deal with the crying?

Nothing. Just the usual  thing where 2018 thinks it will be able to kill me if it just keeps trying, and it still hasn’t given up after 3 months. So I cry.

Work?

Work. Personal. It all sucks and I’m in limbo on every side.

Your friendship side seems to be working fine.

True story, but even then…two of my most favorite people are beset with the same sort of shit that I am.

Did you really just use the word beset in conversation?

Maybe. You should pay closer attention.

I’m sure you’re right. So why do you cry in the car?

Because I have to act like I have my act together all day at work. Usually, that is not difficult…but this month I just don’t have it in me to keep it together all day at work and NOT cry on the way home. It’s all I can do to get to the car sometimes.

I guess there are worse ways to handle stress.

Well, with the whole fat camp thing I can’t handle it the usual way.

Booze?

No, potato chips.

Really? Not booze? I thought you were a bourbon fan. And IPA.

I am, but not when I feel like I really need a drink. With my family history, when I feel like I really need a drink I know I can’t have one. And I hate to drink alone. I’m a purely social drinker. Get me in a happy situation with all of my friends and a good glass filler and I’ll drink all day.  Not when I’m stressed out.

Good to know.

My drug of choice is the chip. Or mashed potatoes. I’m not sure it’s much healthier to eat my stress than it would be to drink.

Maybe not.

Anyway. I’ve been mostly able to handle the stress without turning to carbs. Kind of a miracle. The most stressful 3 months of my life, and I’ve lost 18 pounds.

Well done.

It’s probably not due to my healthy diet. The way this year is going, it’ll probably turn out to be a terminal illness or something. Which I will be diagnosed with just after losing my job and insurance.

Ordinarily I would tease you about being overly dramatic, but this has been a horrible year. Maybe you should get a checkup.

An imaginary conversation with my cat

I don’t think you respect my bodily autonomy.

That’s a big expression for a little kitty.

See? I’m a grown up cat, but you talk to me like I’m a baby.

Maybe that’s because I spend so much time cleaning up after you.

I don’t have opposable thumbs, you know.

No one forces you to lick the carpet and get hairballs that make you throw up all over the floor.

The carpet is very tasty, and you won’t let me go outside to catch mice or birds.

I’ve seen you with a mouse. You made no attempt to catch it.

I was studying it.

You had no clue that you were even supposed to try to catch it because I feed you every day.

Do you think you’re infantilizing me and forcing me into a childish posture I should have outgrown by now?

Maybe you should go outside right now and play in the snow.

What? In the cold! I hate having cold paws…

Grown up cats live outside all the time.

You’re just repressing me. Just like in that movie with the autonomous collective.

Monty Python?

You never think I pay attention.

You’re more than welcome to join an autonomous collective.

Will you drive me to the meetings?

No. You’re a grown ass cat. Get your own transportation.

Can I take the car?

Do you have a license?

No.

Can you reach the accelerator and brakes?

No.

Do you have gas money?

You never give me an allowance.

Take a bus.

Can I watch “the Little Foxes” after you go to bed?

I don’t think you should watch Bette Davis any more.

Why not?

It gives you dangerous ideas.

I wasn’t really going to drown anyone.

Still.

You have no respect for my needs as a cat.

Watch Animal Channel.

You’re repressing me again!

Take another nap, Kitty.

An imaginary conversation about obsessing

Should I accept that I am someone who obsesses over things or try to change it?

That’s quite a launching point for a chat.

Sorry. Hi. How are you?

Good thanks. You?

Obsessing. You?

Shaking my head. Thanks for asking.

You’re welcome.

You’re weird.

No shit.

What are you obsessing about today, anyway?

No one, nothing in particular

I am not sure I believe that–why are you bringing up the topic then?

I am wondering where the line is between an obsession being harmless distraction and self-sabotage.

So you’re obsessing about whether obsessing is automatically a bad thing.

Yes. And if, by extension, I should try to eliminate the behavior like I would if it was something like excessive masturbation or alcohoolism.

I’m not even sure where to start with that.

Just pretend I didn’t bring up masturbation.

What are your preliminary findings?

Probably not, but it’s risky.

You probably shouldn’t masturbate excessively?

I told you just to pretend I didn’t mention that.

You think that your obsessiveness might be a bad habit that you should correct.

Right. Maybe. Except that it launches me into thoughts and creative directions that I like. And for the record, I do not masturbate excessively.

What is excessively?

More than I do.

Of course. So what are the pros and cons?

Of  excessive masturbation?

Right. No! Of obsessing about things!

It gets me to really focus on something deeply. Which is great, since I tend to be terrible at concentrating.

But?

But it’s usually not on whatever task I might really need to be working on.

For instance?

For instance, I might spend a week revamping my blog instead of reading technical material for a certification exam at work.

Not good.

Or writing an imaginary conversation about excessive masturbation instead of doing laundry.

Clean underwear is overrated.

Hygiene is crucial, but maybe sometimes a person can go commando in an emergency.

Well…

My point, if I have one, is that is it really so bad to come up with imaginary conversations instead of cleaning?

Not unless you stop cleaning entirely, and you always have a point.

I do?

Sometimes a sharp one.

Huh. I thought I was rambling.

You ramble with ulterior motives.

What sort of ulterior motive could I possibly have for asking if I obsess about things too much?

You could be trying to get me to tell you that you do.

Why would I do that? It would take the fun out of obsessing about it myself. I mean, deciding for myself.

Uh-huh.

You’re very doubting.

Maybe you want someone to absolve you of your weirdness.

No one can do that.

Not even me?

Not even you. Especially not you.

Why especially?

Because you will barely even give me an opinion about things. Also, you are not weird at all.

Yeah, well you always say “both” and “maybe” to everything. And while you do like to listen and discuss, you seldom take anyone’s advice.

Perhaps…but I do like to hear the options.

See?

You aren’t very likable sometimes.

More likable than you are.

Really?

Well, yes.

Damn!

Or maybe I am just more approachable to a variety of people.

Is that a polite way of calling me an insane bitch?

I would love to reply “yes” to that, but you’d kill me.

No, but I might poke you gently with a fork. I’d miss you if you were dead.

If you kill me, you mean.

I’d miss you regardless of how you died.

That’s…uh…

Sweet.

No, that’s not what I was going for..but sure. Sweet.

I am, though.

Yes, you are. Do you think maybe you could try a little harder to stay on task for things that are essential while still letting your mind wander when you don’t have important work to do?

That’s awfully logical of you. And  yes, I could try harder. I hardly try at all currently.

You say that like it’s something horrible.

No, just a little…I don’t know…

Say it.

Prosaic.

I was expecting something worse.

Soul killing?

There we go.

But it wouldn’t kill my soul.

No, it wouldn’t.

It would dent it a little.

I thought you didn’t believe in souls.

Not a literal soul. But sort of metaphorical one. The thing that makes a person who they are, not a literal thing that weighs 28 grams.

Don’t you think that you’re quibbling?

Don’t I always?