Reclaiming my conscious

...that's right, subconscious, your days of string-pulling and nefarious control are over.

From herein I will embrace the dead relatives putting in their two cents, actively cleanse my aura (aura detox? I wonder...) and be fully responsible for my own actions while allowing other people to be their own baggage handlers/porters/sherpas/beast of burden.

Coffee's part of the aura detox regime, right?
Damn.
I do a lot of stuff without really thinking it through.
On one hand this is fantastic: I get lots and lots done. On the other, I suspect much of it doesn't need to be done by me. Where's the line between selfish and selfless?

The two mothers at the table opposite have selfish down to a fine art, complete with threatening, harridan monologue. One's loop of interrogation regarding wanting to go somewhere on Saturday has ME confused; I can only wonder about the child.

I can smell a coffee being made.
If it's not mine...
Phew. Nearly had to walk.
AND the if you don't... do you WANT to go? Don't touch! Don't kick the table! Come here RIGHT now! Don't make me... brigade are leaving. With their three present children and two more incipient.
Hmmm.

Handed over my engagement and wedding rings to be cleaned today. Was walking along enjoying the sunshine, thinking Gee, those rings in the window look awfully sparkly. I have sparkly! Oh, right. Not SO sparkly. But these lovely people will help me achieve superficial sparkliness! People! Clean my rings please!

Lovely girl returns after some consultation with resident jeweller to tell me some of my sparkly is attached by bare minimum of setting and I am very lucky to still have sparkliness, grubby or otherwise. We agree would be downright inconvenient to lose sparkly and I grudgingly hand over my bling for repair. I'm feeling a bit naked now.Have toyed with the idea of purchasing replacement (fake) bling but I'm sure I have a ring at home that will fit on the appropriate finger, just to keep the Omigod I've LOST my RING where the HELL is it??? panic that kicks me (complete with adrenaline rush) every fifteen seconds. Or thereabouts.

I'm a little intrigued by the last few posts... When I stick poetic junk in, people don't comment. This is either (a) unfortunate synchronicity (b) a general unwillingness to say "Hey, that's really crap!" or (c) Dunno. I'd like to find out. I am reasonably difficult to offend, so (as previously mentioned, I'm sure) CRITICISM welcome! Or discussion, if it makes you more comfortable to call it that. Four years at uni having stuff pulled apart (and every day small children pulling my last statement apart) has desenitised me remarkably well.