I came, I saw, I pulled out a clump of my hair and now have a bald spot

Ok, well maybe I don’t have a bald spot. But, one of my friends growing up would suck her thumb and pull a lock of hair over to rub on her nose (as a baby of course, I did not notice this behavior in high school). She did this so much that she had a bald spot on her head. Eventually, her parents decided to shave her head to break her of such a habit because no one wants a male-pattern-baldness baby, especially when it is a girl.

Back to my bald spot, or hypothetically, imaginary bald spot. Deadlines . . . . . insert dramatic music here. Deadlines are the bane of my existence. One because I hate them for myself, and two because I’m convinced the world is full of lolly-gaggers, late comers, foot draggers, procrastinators. WHY OH WHY must everyone wait until the last minute? The better question to ask is: Why if you decide to wait to the last minute, knowing full well that everyone else waited until the last minute do you get frustrated with me because I am not Superwoman, nor have I stolen the secret to clone myself from the Dutch dolly sheep quack doctors (because I am sometimes difficult to track with: the dutch doctors that cloned the sheep named dolly), and can therefore not handle the massive influx of questions and emergencies and requests all at once right at the deadline. DID YOU THINK I WAS LYING WHEN I TOLD YOU TO DO THIS EARLY? Do I somehow resemble chicken little?

And so because the world (or at least my small world) has decided to all wait until the last minute the last few days and the next might result in a newly bald Katie (Jes I think this might be the perfect opportunity for you to use your artistic expression and somehow produce a picture of me bald – scary as it might be I know it will make me laugh).

Alas in the midst of impending baldness I have been exposed to such oddities as a woman driving what can only be a Zamboni in the parking lot of my local grocery store. It was the size of a Zamboni, it was the shape of a Zamboni, and for some reason there was a thin layer of ice forming behind her and a school of penguins skating all in a line. Ok so maybe the last part was stretching it a bit. Seriously I think there was a middle-age woman driving a Zamboni in the grocery store parking lot. That is not really normal is it? At least not in Texas when it was still 85 degrees at 9:30 at night (ugh Texas heat). I almost followed this woman to see where she kept the Zamboni. For instance, was there some secret society of Eskimos in Texas that I did not know about? Was there a special ice rink in my town that had remained hidden? If so, could I lay upon the ice and cool my body in the sweltering heat of summer (oh wait that doesn’t start until tomorrow – UNLESS you live in Texas-land-of-the-sweltering-heat-and-humidity-that-turns-people-into-human-puddles-of-sweat and it starts in March). Alas, I had ice cream in my car (my dinner, don’t judge me I have a growing bald spot – which makes me wonder if my ridiculously shiny blonde hair hides a ridiculously shiny bald head) so I could not follow the Zamboni as it left to return to its igloo home.

Did I mention that when I’m busy and run-ragged I tend to go a bit more manic than usual? The good part is that it is usually entertaining to those around me.

(Don't worry the reflective, deep thinking katie is still around. Things are floating through my head and when something settles I'll post it.)