My Name is Pookie

My name is Pookie McNoodles.

It’s a name that keeps me remembering to look on the bright side of life when I’m low, which isn’t exactly rare. It’s a reminder that nothing should be taken too seriously in this big cosmic carnival. It’s me clowning for me when there’s no one else to make me laugh. It’s a cloak of protection my real name no longer gives me.

And should you feel that there is nothing left to life and all that you touch withers before you, and then you remember this name, how can you help but to feel touched by the multitude of small absurdities woven into every minute of every day? How can a smile not tug the corners of your lips? Continue reading

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Cake or Death?

I began seeing a new doctor on Friday. As he manipulated my arms, legs, and finger joints, his brow creased in concern.

“Wow, your right hand is seriously overworked. I need you to switch to your left hand — 100% for a while, ok?”

“I’m an illustrator; that’s probably not going to happen.”

“As much left as you can manage, then. The back and leg pain is concerning, too. This doesn’t look like a back injury. I usually only see this in patients who are carrying way too much stress for way too long. You’re a little on the young side to be experiencing this kind of prolonged stress. What’s your job like? Tell me about the breaks you take from work. Tell me about your boss.”

“My boss is the worst. Long hours, few breaks. I spend most of my waking hours working. Sometimes I forget or am too busy to stop and eat. I rarely get out to exercise, but that’s a catch-22 of the back and leg issues.”

He looked at me for a long moment with piercing eyes, as if to say, you already know what the problem is, then.

“Well, the boss is me. I run a small business.” Sheepish grin.  Ta-da.

There it is: I’ve done this to myself.

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Get Outta My Belly

Can we please stop already with the criticism what other people are eating? It’s old and tired, and you’re making me feel old and tired just having to explain this shit. This is about that meme you posted today, the one that says something derogatory about those of us who can’t or won’t eat gluten, dairy, or (insert other potential irritants and allergens and whatever people don’t want to eat for whatever reasons they have because they’re entitled to make that choice).

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Why Didn’t I Get a Robot?

This morning I woke up in a good mood and thought, “I’ve a hankerin’ to doodle.”  When I logged on to facebook, I was notified of a friend’s birthday. Opportunity!   So I doodled.  And I posted.  Shortly after, I received a chat message:  “Boo!  Why didn’t I get a robot?”  Followed by a winking smiley, as if to say, “Just kidding!”  But not.  Because I know you and I know you’re not winking and smiling and saying, “Just kidding!”  I know you’re feeling petulant and legitimately questioning why you aren’t special enough to warrant a personal birthday doodle.  So, even though I don’t owe you fuck-all of an explanation, I thought I’d clear some things up in regard to the rules of engagement with a pookie.   Continue reading

Past Lives, Part I of…who knows?

I’m going through my very, very old email to purge some of the stuff I don’t need anymore, and I have the distinct feeling I’m looking in on someone else’s life. This particular post is just about past jobs.  There’s so much more to the old email story, but I have to start with what doesn’t get me all emotional and fired up, because I ain’t got time for no existential crisis.  Continue reading