Responsibility

Here's what I dislike about having responsible bones in my body: I can't waste time and feel okay about it. 

In my own world, I would not be responsible at all and could therefore sit around doing things with absolutely no productive value and ENJOY it. Also, I would be able to eat chocolate chip cookies all day and not feel sick. And probably I would have the voice of a Disney princess, but not Snow White, of course. Maybe Belle.

However, in this cruel world, as I sit around reading blogs written by strange teenagers that make me laugh, or reading a book that I've read 89,745 times for the 89,746th time, or laughing with the girls next door as I eat another mint Oreo (which are amazing), or write in this blog, I can't really truly enjoy it because I innately know that I should be doing something more productive with my life. Maybe it is because I should be doing something more productive with my life. Aaaaahhh . . . no. That can't be it.

Perhaps it is due to the fact that my parents trained me to have several responsible bones in my body. What responsible bones, you ask? Well . . . 

My head bone. This is also known as the skull, and due to the fact that I once cracked it open as a child, I am now very responsible with my head. I don't use it for anything but schoolwork, and work work, and writing this blog. When I say that I'm hitting my head against something (which I have said in here a few times), I'm being figurative. Which could be called lying by some, but I'm going to call it being figurative since I've learned about figurative language in English class. 

My wrist bone. Ever since my parents and teachers taught me about proper handwriting, I have been ever so careful with this bone of responsibility. It takes notes a LOT. Which helps me to do well in classes. Also, it plays piano which I believe is responsible. 

My finger bone. Oh my. This is perhaps, the most responsible bone in my body. Once, when I was about 5, my dad told me that if I popped my knuckles as a kid, when I was older I would have to pop my knuckles to get my fingers to move. Hence, I do not ever pop my knuckles. EVER. While all others' fingers will someday move only with sounds akin to a popcorn machine, my fingers will glide smoothly through their responsible activities of the day. Thanks Dad! (P.S. I like him a lot :)

My foot bone. This bone is only responsible sometimes. It is responsible mostly in hindsight, after it has been tortured by the irresponsibility of some of my shoes. Sadly, most shoemakers do not think of my feet bones when they make shoes. But after a day of irresponsibility, my foot bone is always very good about being responsible to wear flats the next day. Just so you know, my mom did try very hard to teach me about foot responsibility. But I can't be expected to be perfect, okay?

So now that I've told you all about my responsible bones, you understand that I must now pull myself away from this blog to do something productive with  my life. This way I can banish the guilty feelings that go with wasting time. I don't like feeling guilty. It makes me feel . . . guilty.

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