the eugene bean

I’ve decided to just start typing and see what happens. See what kind of fantabulous stuff I’m able to spew, without even really trying.

I talk to myself. Do you talk to yourself? I don’t do it out loud, that would be plain awful, but I do talk to myself (silently, in my head) quite often. And really, I think the strangest thing about it… I answer myself. I actually can hold conversations in there. I’ll share some of those special conversations with you. Brace yourself for awesomeness. Oh, and genius.

“Corrie,” says Corrie to Corrie, “You should really get out the shower.”
“I know,” replies Corrie to Corrie, “But it feels really good and my kids are on the Other Side of that locked door.”

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“Corrie! Stop picking at your fingers and pay attention! Damn it Corrie, that finger is bleeding you idiot!”
“All right!” Corrie replies with extreme agitation. “I’ll stop for now. But you know that f’ing piece of skin I left hanging will remain locked in the forefront of my mind until I’m forced to pick it off or have an aneurism.” “Stupid, mean Bitch.” (Notice how she slips that one in under her breath? She’s good that Corrie. And she really enjoys using bad language.)

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“Hey Co, you need to figure out when you’re going to get that purse album done. It needs to be done by Friday evening so you can bring it to the scrapbook store on Saturday,” says Corrie to Corrie.
“Crap, I know. I also wanted to work on a Father’s Day album, a baby album, and get started on my photos from Crater Lake. Stop picking your fingers. I think I can get most of the purse album done today and then have some scrappin’ fun tomorrow. STOP PICKING YOUR FINGERS. Where’s E? I haven’t seen him for awhile.”
“Last time I checked he was sitting on the sofa with his hands down his camouflage pants and his swim goggles on top of his head while he watched Sesame Street. Congratulate yourself, Corrie, on your skillful mothering.”


And that, Folks, is just a small sampling.