Last night, as I was falling asleep, I was thinking of things I could use to play with the cat, who is having some issues and needs to burn a little more energy before I go to bed. For some reason, Play-Doh popped into my head.
The more I thought of it, the more I thought a cat would not enjoy Play-Doh because it couldn't do anything with it (not malleable enough.) Then I thought, "Maybe if it was thinned out a bit."
With a vision of goopy Play-Doh in my head, I was reminded of gooey plaster-of-Paris and making those great handprints in grade school.
From there, I flashbacked to getting a cast on my arm when I broke it the summer before 1st grade. That cheesecloth-like fabric dunked in runny plaster.
I was then reminded of paper-mache pinata construction, realizing that for roughly 6 weeks, my arm was a heavy-duty pinata.
Maybe the path wasn't pretty, but the trip was fun.
I really am like this. My boyfriend can even verify that my stories often turn out like this. My political conversations with my mom often take journeys like this train of thought did.
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