Basket Case

Or maybe I should not turn back. Maybe I should move on.

Forget anchors. I’ve thought about them enough. Forget eggs, though I didn’t give them the attention I thought they deserved; they haven’t been good to me. Except to say that they did lead me to my next image.

Baskets. Bread basket. Easter basket. Fruit basket. Basket case. Basket of goodness. Going to Hell in a hand basket. Picnic basket. Waste basket. Basketball.



Oh yes, the potential is exponential. Why put all your eggs in one basket? My eggs, all my precious eggs, they deserve more than just one stinking basket.











What is a basket? A basket is a place to hold things. A basket can hold all my dreams, my desires, my thoughts, my feelings. This blog is a basket, a basket for my eggs.










It’s a way to carry things. I have a basket on my bike. I can begin commuting to work (when I get a job, I mean) and carrying my briefcase in my bike basket. My briecase holds my computer, which is like the egg of my thoughts.








My basket of potential is huge. I am all over the board with experience. Though that makes it harder to go in a straight line into some job or another, it makes the fit all the more perfect when I arrive. I must make sure that all my eggs arrive intact. I can’t go trying to force myself to fit into just any old basket, because then all my eggs will break.

So, here I am, always spinning in circles: Am I thinking in eggs, or am I thinking in baskets? What started out as such as brilliant idea has broken into a pool of yolk. I think I’ve thought too much.

So, as the L said last night: It’ll all work out, so just forget about it.