Today I was thinking about how we are what goes into our brains and we produce what we consume. Last night I was knitting to wind down before bed, and I had a horrible cheerleading routine chant stuck in my head. It was so lame that we took the time to learn it, and though the pattern of stomp and clap was invigorating, the words were so stupid that we dropped it from our repertoire. 

Yes, I was a cheerleader in high school. The popular girls lettered in sports and won trophies, the freaky girls stomped and shouted in the basement of the gym. The popular girls called us lazy and hated us, until we were their battle drums and pipes at game time, boosting them to victory. 

still, 28 years later, I get the cheers stuck in my head. 

I was thinking that I need a new dreamscape. I need to read some poetry, go to a museum or ten. Today I seriously thought to myself, "self, you've been good about your savings account. Nobody's holding out a permanent position at this job for you. See if you can get a weekday off and go to the Penn Museum. Soak up the Sphinx." 

But I can't take a day off without a doctor's note. Maybe there's a kind archaeologist or historian on staff who would write a note for me. "Lindsay is under my care for dysphoria and ennui, and needs a strong dose of beauty. Please excuse her from work for the day." 

Then I paid the monthly utilities, and OH HI, REALITY. Maybe my $70/day after taxes is more important than I thought. 

So, maybe I'll just see if I can dig up some good recordings of poetry to listen to and chase the stomp and shout out of my head.