Toenails, the will of God, and a pole-dancing bunny

My pastor once mentioned that when a person is feeling out of sorts for no discernable reason, it may be a good time to check and see if they're doing what they were fashioned to do. Opening a clam with a butter knife isn't going to be good for clam or butter knife. Best to let the butter knife shine next to the butter dish and use the appropriate instrument to open the clam (since I don't do seafood and the hubster is out and about, the name of the thing escapes me) and let's all get on with dinner. In more theological circles, one could call this being in the will of God. Not in a dictatorial sense, but using one's natural assets and abilities.

Bringing things down to earth, I have had multiple occasions when I know the reason I can't think straight is because my toenails are the wrong color. (Hey, I'm intuitive. It makes sense to me.) A quick polish change, and I am once again ready to roll. Maybe it's the actual color, or the mindless, repetitive tasks of applying coats of polish that let my brain sort things out in more important matters. The psychologically minded may postulate that the color of my toenails is something I can control when other life issues go haywire (and those, I let God handle) or that I need to nurture my inherent femininity/girliness (trust me, that will never go lacking. Really.) All I know is that OPI loves me for it, and the love is mutual.

Such was this morning. I'm polishing the time travel, excited about writing again, clipping along at a good pace, and doing some surgery on one of my favorite scenes, but brain was a few hours behind body this morning (maybe that's due to our apartment getting fumigated today, so base camp has been made at a friend's house until the fumes are gone tomorrow) and I came to the place of "I cannot deal right now. Brain not here. Must nap in front of TV." Real cat nap in the presence of real cat (who did not quite know what to make of me doing this strange thing) while discovering that I am not missing a single thing by not watching daytime television, and somewhere in there, my brain showed up for work. Still on a bit of time delay, but I am picking out the new polish color so all will be well soon.

What about the pole dancing bunny? Completely unintentional, I promise, but too funny not to share. Bunny came with me to a writers' conference this past spring, and I plopped him down on the hotel room lamp to snap a picture, and got the image you see above. That's a water glass next to the bunny, thankyouverymuch. Le sigh. A good reminder that things are not always what they look like, and that discrepancy can be good for a laugh in hindsight.