And here’s what’s on my yuck list…
October 26, 2011 | My Jottings
Succotash. Hookworms. Well-done steaks. Stiletto heels. Not finding the couscous. Thirty-five below zero. Rap music. Cake frosting made with Crisco. Depression. Ted Dekker books. French dressing. Heat and humidity combined. Badly behaved dogs. Geometry. Hubris (especially in myself). Southern California traffic. Cliques. Smoking. Hopelessness. The hunting death of Hope the black bear. Tanning beds. Swampland. Computer crashes. Menopausal memory issues. Sullenness. Infidelity. Mildew. Forgotten cucumbers that turn to mush in the refrigerator. Trash talk. Sharks. Parkinson’s Disease. Spam (the kind in my inbox and the kind made by Hormel). Mullets. Time wasted on a book that never got good. Bad cosmetic surgery. O.J. Simpson. Gossip. Lessons I just can’t seem to learn the first time around. Gristle. Spiders. Not taking my thoughts captive. Divorce and the certain destruction it always brings. Lentil soup. Lentil anything. My own selfishness. Peter Pan Syndrome. Someone who betrays confidences. Fear. Uveitis. Life lived too loud to hear that still small voice. Ingratitude. A pro-choice platform. Poverty. Gumdrops. Powdery, fungal toenails. Missing and/or unnecessary apostrophes. The smell of mouse. Fractured families/withheld forgiveness. My paperwork procrastination. Lessons I just can’t seem to learn the second and third times around. Being misunderstood. Grapefruit. Young men who won’t say no to crack (both). Duplicity. Old Plymouth K-cars. White bread moist enough to roll into a ping-pong ball. Politics as usual. Tuna. Drought. Ruffles at the hip. Trying to swim through a Pacific kelp bed. Rejection. Cherry pie. Finding no red and blue floral upholstery fabric on the earth. The feel and sound of fingers on Styrofoam. Clowns. “Love, Mary” signed on anxiously anticipated Christmas cards. Human black rain clouds. Seeing pain in a child. Soft and mealy apples. The last name Penix. Insomnia coupled with despair. Dishwashers that don’t get dishes clean. Massive brown beetles that skitter up the headboard by your pillow in the night. Pouting. Thick, white nylons. Cancer. People who refuse to be teachable. Telemarketing. Skippy peanut butter. Being licked by a cat. Not knowing. Monosyllabic conversation. Broken, empty cisterns. Orange hair pretending to be blond. Alcohol’s warm, inviting subtlety disguising its cruel, often inevitable snare. Mustard. The smell of hot blacktop. Tinnitus. Bratz dolls. Debt. Faulty predictive texting. Broken promises. Jones fractures. Right index fingers that turn east. Worthless idols. Carpet that won’t give up its diamonds. Sheetrock dust in every drawer, nook and cranny. Prayerlessness and the resulting loss of perspective and peace. Easter blizzards. Margarine. Insincerity. Bullfights. What the locusts have eaten. Bunions. Chicken-and-fat necklaces at some Chinese restaurants. Tax preparation. Lying old tapes. Sportive Lemurs’ eyes. Goodbyes. Candirus. A loved one rejecting Christ. My own mediocrity.
What’s on your yuck list? (reprinted from the archives…)