I spent a great deal of the 1990's watching Star Trek: The Next Generation and listening to Captain Picard discuss, at length, the delicacy of the time and space continuum. Basically, don't mess with it.
On board the Starship Enterprise, when faced with the decision to enter a wormhole that transforms all life on earth into peace loving people who give to the poor (if they existed anymore) and never use the middle finger for an obscene gesture but merely pull their car to the side of the road so another can pass them with pleasantries exchanged all in a complex reaction to the accidental murder of a single cockroach on cockroach planet OR staying the course and annihilating a solar system by offering a Diet Coke to an alien life form, always choose option #2.
Why? I don't know. That is my quandary of with String Theory and Einstein. I simply don't get it. But that is all part of the "Prime Directive" which drives all decisions on the Starship Enterprise. Of course, if I understand String Theory (which I don't) then wouldn't an alternative reality be in existence on a parallel plane?
In my plane of existence I rolled over this morning and looked at the clock. The early (9-10) morning sale at the craft store had just begun and I didn't have on any pants. I took the time to put on pants before running out the door to my van but not before realizing I had forgotten my cell phone. I ran back into the house to grab said cell phone and heard the land phone ringing. It's 9:10 a.m. on Thursday morning. My oldest son who also lacked pants had scouts.
Once in the parking lot, I realized that other forms of life tend to have a difficult time with negotiating space. There were a number of lovely, late model cars (not SUV or vans) that had taken two full parking spots. Idiots that they are, they hadn't taken into account that moms driving beat up minivan don't worry about dents and dings. I successfully negotiated my minivan into a parking spot and, after trying 17 times to open the door to get out, finally crawled through the back hatch.
The store itself was teetering on fire marshal citation. Women with three children clinging to their hems while pushing a cart holding three more little ones, along with all their creative hearts' desire blocked every aisle. It was every man's worst nightmare.
Two hours later, I triumphantly entered my home where I quickly went to work cleaning up the table and counter so I could set up craft stations. Super Mommy. That's me. Just as I finished the elaborate display, my sister called to tell me we'd be meeting at Kneaders for my mom's birthday in 20 minutes.
55 minutes later, I arrived at Kneaders, freshly showered and having played six successful games on my hand held Yahtzee. My parents and sisters had just arrived. We all seem to own the same clock.
Due to a junior high tiff I am having with a colleague and her passive/aggressive tactics, I rushed off to work, magnanimously (according to me) or late (according to her).
After trying to break the sound barrier to get home, I realized my children had not been properly fed all day, it was dinnertime, and, simultaneously the high school scheduled their Back-to-School Night. This is where normal people order pizza. I made chicken enchiladas with home made tortillas. Because I am that stupid.
So, here I sit, at 11:30 p.m., knowing full well I will be at work tomorrow at 8:00 a.m. (with a half hour drive time), listening to my older three children downstairs and wondering when one of them will get hurt/mad/tired/smart and go to bed.
And pondering Quantum Physics and genetics.
It's all relative.
On board the Starship Enterprise, when faced with the decision to enter a wormhole that transforms all life on earth into peace loving people who give to the poor (if they existed anymore) and never use the middle finger for an obscene gesture but merely pull their car to the side of the road so another can pass them with pleasantries exchanged all in a complex reaction to the accidental murder of a single cockroach on cockroach planet OR staying the course and annihilating a solar system by offering a Diet Coke to an alien life form, always choose option #2.
Why? I don't know. That is my quandary of with String Theory and Einstein. I simply don't get it. But that is all part of the "Prime Directive" which drives all decisions on the Starship Enterprise. Of course, if I understand String Theory (which I don't) then wouldn't an alternative reality be in existence on a parallel plane?
In my plane of existence I rolled over this morning and looked at the clock. The early (9-10) morning sale at the craft store had just begun and I didn't have on any pants. I took the time to put on pants before running out the door to my van but not before realizing I had forgotten my cell phone. I ran back into the house to grab said cell phone and heard the land phone ringing. It's 9:10 a.m. on Thursday morning. My oldest son who also lacked pants had scouts.
Once in the parking lot, I realized that other forms of life tend to have a difficult time with negotiating space. There were a number of lovely, late model cars (not SUV or vans) that had taken two full parking spots. Idiots that they are, they hadn't taken into account that moms driving beat up minivan don't worry about dents and dings. I successfully negotiated my minivan into a parking spot and, after trying 17 times to open the door to get out, finally crawled through the back hatch.
The store itself was teetering on fire marshal citation. Women with three children clinging to their hems while pushing a cart holding three more little ones, along with all their creative hearts' desire blocked every aisle. It was every man's worst nightmare.
Two hours later, I triumphantly entered my home where I quickly went to work cleaning up the table and counter so I could set up craft stations. Super Mommy. That's me. Just as I finished the elaborate display, my sister called to tell me we'd be meeting at Kneaders for my mom's birthday in 20 minutes.
55 minutes later, I arrived at Kneaders, freshly showered and having played six successful games on my hand held Yahtzee. My parents and sisters had just arrived. We all seem to own the same clock.
Due to a junior high tiff I am having with a colleague and her passive/aggressive tactics, I rushed off to work, magnanimously (according to me) or late (according to her).
After trying to break the sound barrier to get home, I realized my children had not been properly fed all day, it was dinnertime, and, simultaneously the high school scheduled their Back-to-School Night. This is where normal people order pizza. I made chicken enchiladas with home made tortillas. Because I am that stupid.
So, here I sit, at 11:30 p.m., knowing full well I will be at work tomorrow at 8:00 a.m. (with a half hour drive time), listening to my older three children downstairs and wondering when one of them will get hurt/mad/tired/smart and go to bed.
And pondering Quantum Physics and genetics.
It's all relative.
I am following you thanks to Hop Along Friday! It would be nice if you could share the love back on my blog!
ReplyDeleteAlso we have the coolest blog-hop there is... no rules just fun and would love you to join in:) Oh and if you need any blog help or easy HTML tips, you know where to come! Happy Friday!
I love hand held yahtzee, I love craft stations, I love Jean Luke and Kneaders but I'll leave the middle finger gesture and the quantam physics to someone else.
ReplyDeleteYou've prefectly described one of the many reasons I refuse to step foot into a craft store. EVER.
ReplyDeleteMy head is spinning! Quantum physics does that to me!
ReplyDelete