What do you call a five foot psychic that has escaped from jail?

To be honest i’m only posting today because last night I figured that after not working out in six months it was a good idea to run for an hour on a treadmill. This was not a good idea, in fact it was a very bad idea that ensured i’m not leaving my bed for quite a few hours. (a condition also accompanied by shame at the fact I only ran that much because I couldn’t let the girl next to me run longer…curse you competitive spirit)

So the topic of today is fruitcakes vs. potatoes. 

Stay with me here.

I’ve pretty much decided that people are either fruitcakes or potatoes. And if you think about it, it’s actually pretty accurate. The fruitcakes of us are to say the least, extreme. They’re that friend that after spending a few hours with you find yourself rolling down a semi-main street in a broken office chair someone left out on a curb yelling “FOR NARNIA!” Or catapulting pizza dough at each others faces at 2am and laughing hysterically because there’s a fine mist of flour covering everything from the toaster to the dog. That kind. 

These people take some risks, which end them in a LOT of sticky situations, but also makes for the most awesome memories. They don’t like mediocrity or normality much, and given the chance to play scrabble with Plato or bungee jump with Russell Brand, they’d probably pick the latter. But if we were all like this? Chaos. That’s where the potatoes come in.

Now, being a potato is far from a bad thing. The potatoes of the world are liked by just about everyone, whereas fruitcakes…well, sometimes it’s more of an acquired taste. Potatoes are versatile, they make sure things get done in an efficient and no-nonsense fashion. They also are composed of some pretty hearty stuff, you know what you’re getting with a potato, those green “fruits” in a fruitcake…not so much. 

I guess I’ve been thinking about this nearly meaningless topic because I have absolutely no clue which food I am. It bothers me deeply. Sometimes I think i’m a fruitcake in disguise as a potato, others (like sitting with an SAT prep book for 5 hours on a Saturday) i’m pretty sure it’s the spud life for me. It doesn’t matter in the end, after all, the fruitcakes and potatoes work together swimmingly and both equally contribute to the world.

(A small medium at large)

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Musings.

Most of my earliest memories as a child were things that would make most people faint. No seriously, you have no idea. Life was adventurous to say the least for little 0-10 year old me. Since then I’ve found that things get significantly more boring until one day you’re being called an “adult”, you eat goat cheese and craisin salads for lunch and every five minutes someone’s yelling at you for not being responsible enough. Lame, huh? 

We all have this Peter Pan fantasy that we’re never going to grow up and be like (*gasp*) our parents. But, in reality, we probably will. I mean what else is there to do? The average, immature, still-living-the-glory-days-even-though-i’m-36 year old isn’t exactly someone we aspire to be (I sincerely hope). So I suppose the question is, can we be somewhere in between? Can we somehow find a way to keep our living in a tree-house, making blanket forts and eating ice cream for breakfast ideals into the dreaded years of mid-life dullness? 

I have absolutely no idea.

I’ve for sure seen some couples who have this figured out, the ones who actually took all that rubbish advice about “doing what makes you happy, not what makes you rich.” And for them, it worked! Is it more about having the guts to admit what makes us really happy?

Now this is getting pretty long and most of you are waiting for the juicy bits where I divulge my romantic life in full and tell you I’ve really been working for the CIA for the past 5 years. 

Sorry, please click the little red button in the top right hand corner of your screen, the most adventurous thing I’ve done in the past week is choose Mountain Dew instead of Ginger Ale.

But honestly, what would happen if we all just did what we actually wanted to? If the people who loved to read became happy simple librarians or the jocks who live and breathe football never had to second guess making it to the NFL? I bet you my left sock good things would come of it. 

Somehow we’re all trapped in this “what makes me successful” mindset, but what we really should be looking at, is “what makes me happy?” Is it less selfish to be miserable and well-off than to be happy and not living in Wayne manor? I think not.