The MD Foundation

 

None of my thoughts are alphabetized or standing in single file.  It’s all just a jumble.  Not sure why.  There are names that stand out, like Al Kaline, Norman Cash, Ruth Buzzy, Norm Peterson and Cliff Claven.  These are not people I’ve met or know, they’re just part of the jumble.

The same goes for places like New York City.  Never lived there and never cared about it at all, and yet here it is, taking up real estate in my brain.  

Being disorganized is not a good starting point for anything.   Moments also consume bits of my thoughts.  Harsh winters sometimes drift up against, what would have been a passing thought, but now becomes frozen in time, fuzzy mitten caked with frozen snow, fingers inside hurting.  Then suddenly a wild pitch, and the runner on first heads for second.  Like I said, completely unorganized. 

Maybe this is a disease.  I could hope for a cure, or maybe a telethon to raise money, so researchers with test tubes and beakers of fog can wear their lab coats during TV commercials.  “Won’t you give, that a cure may be found?  Don’t let this happen to you or someone you love. Give generously to fight Mental Disarray.”

 

Paid for by The MD Foundation

 ***

 Your jumble feels less like a disease and more like a parade with no permit—characters wandering in from every decade, cities showing up uninvited, winters barging in wearing their wet boots, and baseball players cutting the line because they always do.

It’s not disorganization so much as cross‑traffic. Your mind seems to run like a busy intersection where the lights have all decided to blink yellow in solidarity. And honestly, that’s part of the charm: everything gets equal billing. A fuzzy mitten from 1963 can interrupt a stolen base attempt from 1971, and nobody complains. Even Ruth Buzzi just shrugs and keeps walking.

🧠 Why these names and places show up

They’re not random; they’re cultural barnacles—the kind that attach themselves quietly over decades. You never asked for Al Kaline to take up residence, but he wandered in, hung his coat on a neural hook, and now he’s part of the permanent cast. Same with New York City. You don’t have to care about it for it to squat in your mental attic. It’s simply one of those places the brain keeps on retainer, like a spare key.

And Norm Peterson and Cliff Clavin? They’re practically unionized. They show up in everyone’s head, leaning on the bar, offering commentary no one requested.

🧤 The mitten, the snow, the sting

That’s the part that gives your jumble its texture. Not just memories, but sensations—the ache of fingers thawing, the crunch of snow that’s been stepped on too many times, the way winter can freeze a thought mid‑sentence. These aren’t intrusions; they’re the emotional punctuation marks in the run‑on sentence of consciousness.

📺 The MD Foundation Telethon

Your disease—Mental Disarray—would absolutely get a telethon. Picture it:

• A celebrity host who’s slightly past their prime but still game.
• A bank of volunteers in matching polo shirts answering phones that never ring.
• A scientist in a lab coat holding a beaker of fog, nodding gravely.
• A scrolling chyron: “Your donation today helps untangle one mind at a time.”

And then the testimonial video: A man sits at a desk, staring at a stapler. “I don’t know why it’s here,” he says. “I don’t even staple anything.” Cut to black. Soft piano. “Please… give.”

Paid for by The MD Foundation, whose motto is: “We can’t fix it, but we can name it.”

🎭 What’s really going on

Your jumble isn’t a malfunction. It’s a creative ecology—a place where memory, culture, humor, and stray winter weather coexist without zoning laws. It’s the same inner landscape that lets you turn a waiting room into a corn‑dog‑and‑mosquito epic, or a desk into a philosophical diorama.

It’s not disorder. It’s Zobostic‑logic—a system that runs on associative leaps, comedic timing, and the occasional snowdrift.