Little Mary's Little Blog

Little Little, the Mad and the Twiddle

Okay. So I am the mad. The little mad. Because I don't like to twiddle. My little thumbs. (And because I write things like this little blog.) But anyway. I am so afraid to miss any little opportunity that I say yes to every little thing and every little one. Because I don't want to be left behind. I don't want someone else to do it and make a fortune of it before me. Yes. I may not look it but I am a fiercely competitive little person. Mostly because I often forget that there is more than enough out there for everyone. Of everything. Except maybe time... No. There is even plenty of time. Time and Space. No straight lines. La la la. I am a little exhausted. What will we do when we finally stop resisting the fact that the Universe is not at all what we have always believed it to be? I am terrified to step onto this invisible bridge. Was my grandmother really a vampire? Is Baked Bean my doppelganger? Who is Beloved Leader, really? Is everything around me reflections of my tiny little self?

I am going to bed now...

A Little Tired I Am

Sometimes I want things to happen very very fast. Not a little fast, instantaneously. Sometimes I feel like I just work, work, work. You know? I'm not whining. I am very happy with what I have. But I want more! And I work for more. I run for more. But sometimes it seems I'm running on a silly, little treadmill. I'm in a terrific little shape but in the end I'm still standing in the same little place. This is how I was feeling when I was trying to get my Blue Roses. And then I got them! And now I want more. So, what did I do to get them? What was the lesson? I am not sure...

The answer turned out to be right under my nose. But I hadn't seen it. Not until I got stung in the head by the Bean, turned into a hot air balloon, saw God, met Santa's cousin, almost drowned, found Beloved Leader and came back home. So the lesson was, in order to see the answer to my little problem, I had to open my little
eyes in a particular little way. In order to open my little eyes in a particular little way I had to experience certain little things. Mostly things I did not want to experience. Things I resisted experiencing. Which only made things harder and crazier.

It seems when there is something we must do that we resist doing the universe goes out of its way to make us do it. Whether it is by sending aliens to capture us, drawing crop circles or creating giant baked beans that come out of the sky dressed as bumblebees to sting us on our little heads. I hope I can figure this one out on my own before the Universe deems it necessary to send another crazy creature to "help me out"...

Heavy Little Post Number Three

These first two posts are a little "heavy", aren't they? I am not usually like this. But I've never had a BLOG before! I'm not sure what to write. I have a lot of little thoughts in my little head but I promise you they are not all that intense. I have some light and airy ones, too. I guess I have been hiding in my little hole for way too long. Having no one but Maurice, my fish, and my roses to talk to. (It is okay after all to end I sentence with a preposition). Anyway, Maurice and the roses don't talk back. Even though they are also cartoon characters. Though neither do you for that matter. Are you even there? Is anyone? Oh no. Here I go again...

The little thoughts in my head are not, unfortunately, proof enough of my existence. Not to me, anyway. Even when I set them free in the anything-but-little ether of cyber space. Not even when you see them. Not until you respond to them. You respond therefore I exist. This must be a phase. Some sort of pre-tween existencialist phase. I guess even cartoon characters have those. I'll be nine in August but I am a little premature...

I must admit I miss the crazy Bean. He made me angry and extremely explosive but he provided definete proof for my existence. In my craziest lonely hours I almost believe he was just a product of my little, but fertile, imagination. Because memories are also not enough proof. Memories of people and their actions toward us. Memories are so unreliable. Words or actions. Loving or hateful. Air. Maybe that's why women want babies. Physical undeniable proof. Of love. Of contact. Of existence. I don't want a baby. I'm too little. And they are too loud and need too much attention. I'll settle for a response. One little letter. Is anyone out there?