I’m Drowning in a Stream of Consciousness too!

THURSDAY, JUNE 3, 2010


I’m Drowning in a Stream of Consciousness too!

Well past 11pm and even 11am… I am no closer to my objective of completing even one post following an outline than I was yesterday.

On the recommendation of a friend I have reserved at our Public Library: “I could tell you stories : sojourns in the land of memory” by Patricia Hampl. Hopefully, this will clear some things up for me or at least give me a good read.

I have been studying memory because mine is often interfered with by Streams of Consciousness. That and modifications that take place because of review of past memories and restorage issues. I know this problem has a lot to do with chemicals, synapses and the neural network. I am hoping it is not early onset.

I will not wander too far from the original assignment. However, I did want to share a few things that went thru my head as I approached an intersection with a stoplight the other day. This is all from memory so bear with me.

The first question was whether or not I wanted to get into a race to keep control of my lane or if I wanted to let that guy that missed the call: “Gentlemen, start your engines!” the other day, cut me off. I usually try to drive my gas guzzling 1986 Toyota Land Cruiser as ‘Green’ as possible and coast up to stop lights. Instead of racing, I backed off even more to keep from having to slam on my brakes. I barely avoided rear ending the guy in the little four wheel rice rocket that shot around me and into my lane. He was enjoying himself as he texted and flew by listening to music that was way too loud, even in the next county.

As I got closer to the intersection I thought there might be some other route that I could take to get to my destination that would let me avoid the hill that was coming up and other Kamikaze’s that absolutely had to be in front of old BlueBird, instead of behind her. I decided I couldn’t sit behind that guy for the full length of the light listening to something the Inquisitors used as torture. Briefly, I then thought they should use that pounding Rap that was shaking my car to get people held in Guantanamo to spill the beans but was reasonably certain that this was prohibited by the Geneva Convention.


I deftly changed into the right lane so I could make a right on red and hightail it out of there. Mr. Rice Rocket conveniently made a left on red after stop so at least the crashing bass was receding into the distance. I decided to just wait out the light and go straight since it was the most direct route to my destination.

You guessed it; I was headed to the Post Office and then the Public Library. I had to see if there was any mail for me, the dead guy or the The Church of Scientology recruit. I also needed to go to the john.


At the Post Office I needed help figuring out what to do with dead guy’s mail I had gotten the other day with scrawled notes on it. When I wrote my notes I thought that post card was Third or Fourth Class, so it was garbage or recycle, no matter how you figure. I was wrong it was First Class. I went to my most helpful friend, the Postal Clerk and explained that I did not know that it was First Class when I started scribbling all over it. When I did figure out it was First Class; I was pretty sure I could not just throw it away. He told me that since it was First Class and the sender had included a return address that the Post Office would take care of the duties of returning to sender. They would not dump it in the Dead Letter Office and felt the need to inform the sender that this First Class Mail was not deliverable at that address.


I was relieved to know that I would not be prosecuted for defacing First Class Mail.


Since I really needed to use the restroom and did not want to start dancing again; I let the poor clerk off the hook and watched him try to find a place that was not completely covered with my ballpoint ink to put his red stamp on with the appropriate reason for return checked in black ink from the pen hanging conveniently there on the extra long chain.

I jumped into the car and raced to the library to find the entry gate up. I went inside the building and took care of business and looked for some literature on Streams of Consciousness or memory on the 15 minute limit free computer. It was at precisely that moment when the computer screen refreshed itself with the search results, that it hit me that I had an appointment and I must hightail it.

I ran outside and jumped into BlueBird and proceeded to the exit. I had a bad feeling because the gates were closed at the entrance and also next to the Kiosk at the exit. The Kiosk was occupied by the attendant. As quickly as possible I tried to explain to the attendant why I did not have a little manila cardboard receipt with the two holes in it that was stamped with the stardate and exact time I had entered the parking lot that day. She closed her cellphone and said: “What?” I repeated what I had already said and told her I saw no reason to punch the button at the entry gate to get a receipt that day since the gates were open at the entrance and the exit and no one was in the booth to monitor these things. I told her I could give her the spare receipt I kept on the floor of the car from when I punched the button the other day to open the gate to get in. I did not need it to get out that day because the exit gate was up and no attendant was on duty when I got out of the library. This could work if she would accept that ticket and also only if I had enough cash on me to cover a few days of parking when I wasn’t or if she took credit or debit cards. As some of the people behind me were lining up and started blowing their horns she relented, raised the gate and let me and BlueBird slip out of car jail on our own recognizance.

I turned left and made the next left on to the One Way headed south when I was barely missed by Mr. Rice Rocket as he went straight through his light without stopping on red. I decided to give him and the probable law enforcement chase vehicles a wide berth. I drove right past the Post Office.

I arrived just in time for my most important appointment of the day. DakotaDawg greeted me with much singing and ball bouncing as I came through the front door of the house. It was well past her time for a trip to the golf course. She did not want a bucket of balls for the driving range but preferred instead to root around the poison oak in the rough.

I had told her when I had left the house earlier that I would be right back. I was just going down the hill to say hello to a friend.

There was some DakotaDawgDancing too but we made it outside just in time. I wondered if we should take the normal tour or the extended one. DakotaDawg decided for me as she yanked the leash. She really had to go.

And, I am no closer to my objective of completing even one post following an outline than I was yesterday. I am too busy swimming in a Stream of Consciousness.


I shall pick up Ms. Hampl’s book on my next trip to get the mail that I forgot on the last trip only if I have to use the facilities.