Of varying uses
Written by Erin Norman on Tuesday the 8th of June 2010
I can do many things magnificently, and I am utterly
hopeless at many more. My mind can
shuffle through ideas like a pack of cards, and deal them out in a pattern of coherent
words, but I cannot plan and execute a meal beyond toast. I can follow instructions and build a five
foot tall 1/12 scale dolls house, but I cannot manage public transportation
without constant guidance. I can put
people at ease and be merry, I can be a leader, I can be a follower, I can bake
like the Sugar Plum Fairy and I have a freakish memory for phrases and
conversations; ask me what I did yesterday or where my electric meter is
located and you'll get nothing but a blank stare.
In fact, I'm rather like Mary Poppins and her
antithesis twin. Some days I float
through on a cloud of self congratulations "oh yes, well done, you fit that
balustrade well” or "MY don't I have a twinkle in my step today!” and on those
days I am Practically Perfect in Every Way.
But, practically speaking, I am one of the most useless creatures I've
ever known, and, come the inevitable apocalypse, I will not only be of no help
but I will also be a liability. When I
exit the realm over which I rule with the finest silken glove, I am Practically
Useless in Every Way.
While the survivors will be building fires and eating food,
I'll be pondering the implications of moving camp 10 miles downriver. On the face of it, my idea seems like a
useful contribution to the group. I've
just realised that there's more shelter downriver, in addition to there being
hidden access to a vantage point where we can spy on the enemy camp. The drawback to making the move is the necessity
of passing enemy camp along the journey, and facing an unknown frontier the
other side. However while I'm working
through this possibility, a clever bullet hits my brain and kills me
instantly. My loyal friends, who've
loved me dearly for all the merriment I've given them during such bleak times,
go into a rage and swoop down on the enemy camp for revenge. The slaughter on both sides is
unforgiveable. The battle had moved back
and forth between our two camps, so the outcome was that our camp was no longer
fit to live in. My fellow campmates
moved 10 miles downriver without ever having had the idea suggested from
me.
hopeless at many more. My mind can
shuffle through ideas like a pack of cards, and deal them out in a pattern of coherent
words, but I cannot plan and execute a meal beyond toast. I can follow instructions and build a five
foot tall 1/12 scale dolls house, but I cannot manage public transportation
without constant guidance. I can put
people at ease and be merry, I can be a leader, I can be a follower, I can bake
like the Sugar Plum Fairy and I have a freakish memory for phrases and
conversations; ask me what I did yesterday or where my electric meter is
located and you'll get nothing but a blank stare.
In fact, I'm rather like Mary Poppins and her
antithesis twin. Some days I float
through on a cloud of self congratulations "oh yes, well done, you fit that
balustrade well” or "MY don't I have a twinkle in my step today!” and on those
days I am Practically Perfect in Every Way.
But, practically speaking, I am one of the most useless creatures I've
ever known, and, come the inevitable apocalypse, I will not only be of no help
but I will also be a liability. When I
exit the realm over which I rule with the finest silken glove, I am Practically
Useless in Every Way.
While the survivors will be building fires and eating food,
I'll be pondering the implications of moving camp 10 miles downriver. On the face of it, my idea seems like a
useful contribution to the group. I've
just realised that there's more shelter downriver, in addition to there being
hidden access to a vantage point where we can spy on the enemy camp. The drawback to making the move is the necessity
of passing enemy camp along the journey, and facing an unknown frontier the
other side. However while I'm working
through this possibility, a clever bullet hits my brain and kills me
instantly. My loyal friends, who've
loved me dearly for all the merriment I've given them during such bleak times,
go into a rage and swoop down on the enemy camp for revenge. The slaughter on both sides is
unforgiveable. The battle had moved back
and forth between our two camps, so the outcome was that our camp was no longer
fit to live in. My fellow campmates
moved 10 miles downriver without ever having had the idea suggested from
me.
-
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