I’m all over the place today.
I was going to discuss Kim Kardashian’s boobs and her incessant need to share them, but then it occurred to me that there’s not a whole lot of value in discussing something with such an obvious answer. Self worth is a delicate mystery.
I moved on to a post about whether or not baseball players can still chew tobacco. I was at Michael’s birthday dinner and there was a baseball game on. It looked like they were spitting sunflower seeds. I’m pretty sure I read somewhere that chewing tobacco was banned. If it was, I think that annoys me. I didn’t care enough to check and write a whole post about it, but baseball should stay sweaty male and yucky spit.
I briefly entertained sharing my thoughts about the shooting and subsequent riots, but it’s Monday and I’m not in the mood to be perplexed or pissed off. I want to write about something life affirming, not a mess that skips all the important points and moves to the hot buttons.
That brought me to the caterpillars.
We have had these fantastic massive rains (monsoons) and this weekend there were hundreds of caterpillars trying to cross the street near my house. At least I think that’s what they were doing. If you’ve never seen this, it is…well, it’s surreal.
All of these caterpillars, moving at a caterpillar pace, take off across a busy two lane street, into traffic. There are splatter marks everywhere, but they keep coming, an endless stream.
Why don’t they wait? Where are they going? Don’t they see the guys before them getting smushed?
Michael reminded me that they were caterpillars. “That’s why there are a lot of them, I guess,” he said, “so some of them will make it.”
“Why can’t they just stay where they are? Turn into butterflies in safety.”
“Something must be telling them to move north and it has nothing do with rational thought.”
“I think it’s crazy. They are killing themselves.”
“That’s why you would not make a good caterpillar.”
I’m still not sure if that was a compliment.
My thoughts from the laundry room. Stay the Night.