A Bizarre Peek

I couldn't sleep.

 

So, my brain suggests, "Hey, let's see what nonsense we can find on the internet. Come on, it'll be fun!"

 

I hate my brain.

 

First, how many years in a generation? Twenty years? Thirty years?

 

I know, have mercy.

 

What precipitated these ridicules thoughts at four in the morning? Well, last week a gentleman said he was the ninth generation in his family to attend the Citadel. Oh really? 

 

Maybe I'm missing something. Maybe I heard wrong.

 

Even if his family was knocking 'em out at an early age, doubtful. America is young, the Citadel younger. 

 

Oh well. He was a hoot, entertaining.

 

Next, Poetry for Neanderthals. I'm not kidding. I don't know how I stumbled across this, Pinterest, or something. But hand to God, it's a real game, with a plastic bat, because if you don't "speak good," you are hit with a stick. I'm dead.

 

When I went back to school a few years back, anthropology was my favorite class. Studying Neanderthals was interesting. I don't recall any Poetry for Neanderthals. 

 

So many thoughts fluttering around in this head. Rabbit holes. Whacking the poo out of others with a stick when not speaking good. 

 

I recently decided to focus on one language. Jumping around, disco balls and squirrels everywhere, I decided one at a time might be best. Doesn't mean I can't pick up words here and there from others, but I decided to learn, become fluent in Spanish first. 

 

Day 50. Consecutive. I studied too late. Maybe como estas, jefes, vacaciones and vacacion (I need a long vacaciones or vacacion) are preventing me from sleeping sound. Necesito viajar a Italia. I'm not yet dreaming in Spanish, but I do wake up thinking in Spanish. Picking up on conversations while running errands (do I really want to translate even more conversations, perhaps negative?) is becoming more common. 

 

You are welcome — a bizarre peek into the mind of D at four in the morning.