How a nomad brain works

Or, rather, imitates working. The forthcoming described events should give you some idea of the kinds of trials & tribulations I deal with every day as the owner of a nomad brain. It demonstrates a typical "train of thought" (which has been known to follow tracks from San Francisco to Honolulu via Gibralter) and why I do some of the things I do. And yeah, it's going to ramble a lot

About 2 months ago my sister moved into a new house. So, of course I got guilted into helping with the move. And of course, as with any time I'm involved with moving furniture and/or heavy objects, blood was drawn. Not much blood, mind you. I was actually impressed with the lack of severity. Really, it was just a scratch. It tried to bleed, but not very hard. Didn't even warrant a bandaid. But somehow it decided to become a scar. Yes, a scar. Here we are, 2 months later, and it's still visible. Which is amazing and perplexing. But it got me to thinking about various incidents of, shall we say, cranial ineptitude in my life that should have resulting in scars but didn't. Car cigarette lighters ("Is it hot?"); pocket knives ("Is this sharp?"); hot lawn mower mufflers ("I probably shouldn't pick this up bare handed..."); hiking excursions ("Why waste my time climbing down this drop when I can just jump?"); bicycles ("Betcha I can jump more garbage cans on my 10-speed than you can!"); and of course, all those combat frisbee laughs.

And that got me to wondering if I still had my old combat frisbee. Now, a combat frisbee isn't like your ordinary frisbee. Obviously, it has to be rather durable, since it needs to survive multiple impacts with nomad heads, pavement, walls, cars, and even the occassional police/security officer. But of course, it has to be lighter than, say, granite. Metal frisbees tend to dent easily. Plus, it's a game, so you don't really want to cause permanent injury to your friends or the occassional police/security officer. Since being able to see your target takes some of the fun out of combat frisbee, it's best played at about 2:00 am. So of course, the frisbee has to be glow in the dark, otherwise it might get lost. Plus, it's just so cool have a glowing green streak of light get flung past your head when everything is pitch dark.

Well, I didn't give it a second thought, since it's been years since I last saw that frisbee. At least, the second thought didn't hit me until about 1:00 this morning. That's when my nomad brain finally processed the question ("Do I still have that frisbee?") and decided to seek the answer. So yeah, my body relunctantly spent 3 hours at an ungodly hour of the morning searching my house for a frisbee. Which, I'm happy to report, I actually found. So, glow in the dark frisbee in hand, looking out the window at the darkness of 4:00 am, I just had to go outside and give it a few flings, for old time's sake. Yeah . . . playing frisbee, by myself, at 4:00 in the morning. Aren't you jealous?

And of course, now I'm wondering how many scratches I'll get when I fall off the roof trying to retrieve my combat frisbee in the rain. It really is amazing I don't have more scars.