Because Bwana wants it

I'm supposed to tell the story about a wild animal winding up somewhere its not supposed to be. In the past. Or something.

Growing up in MT, animals were everywhere. There was a month in the summer when I was about 5 when I wasn't allowed in the deep grass in the back yard. Because there were supposedly a batch of wild rattle snakes on the prowl. And mom was scared. But there never were snakes in the back yard. And I still crept out there at dusk and peed in the corners (no one said I was civilized at that age- and we only had one bathroom- very inconvenient. Or incontinent.)

I guess the strangest one was in AZ, whilst attending ASU. I got stung in the armpit by a scorpion while I slept. In my bed. Hurt like hell. I would compare it to having a lit match put out in your skin. Followed by the tingles that happen when a limb falls asleep. Sharper though. For about 10 hours. We killed the little fucker right away. But then had trouble falling asleep again- because of the creepy crawlies. So maybe that qualifies. I dunno. I didn't make the rules. I only try to follow them.

Stupid scorpion.

I had a cockroach go up my nose in my sleep too. Had to blow it across the room to remove it. Rude ass way to wake up. Stupid AZ and the damned bugs. Unclean fucking place, if you ask me. All of them came from the Oleander bushes. Which have the added charm of being poisonous. Ratty, nasty bushes.

Stupid cockroach.

There. Hope that works. Now I'm in a foul mood- remembering my traumatic past with bugs.

While trying not to crawl out of my skin

It's damned cold outside. And I always sound so...depressed when I write lately. But I'm not, really. I promise. Just jittery with inactivity. And that haunting feeling that life is going on in the outside world and I'm just not participating. Knowing that things are happening...without me.

The sheet of ice on our street is still intact, but we've braved it a couple of times now- to get to the store and the vet. Mundane tasks. But surprisingly not comforting in their mundaneness. What to do, what to do...

What to do is take a nap. Then start the cycle of compulsively checking my email accounts- all three of them. Over and over. Something has to happen. Something has to change. There. A meeting request. But I can't accept- because I'm not on the network. Damn. There. A message that actually begs for my attention. But I can't answer the question- not on the network. Damn.

And in the background the feeling that my clock is ticking towards some kind of end. Well, hells yes. Always. Keep that thought at bay- buy more things. Keep that thought away- focus on something else. Anything else. Like that ever SO important email from someone at work. Right. Be the worker bee. Be the carpenter ant. Just keep busy- that will keep everything safe. Everything in its right and proper place. Wash your hands 32 times, or your mother will die. Don't step on that crack- you'll break her back, and she won't love you anymore. The anxiety shuffle. No song written to accompany it- because music would call attention. And you're trying to divert attention, right?

No depression here, chief. Only sunshine- brittle, cold and pure. Blue skies reflected in steely blue water. Container ships docked in sight- being loaded and unloaded with sparkling commerce. The steel mill belching steam into the sky- we've been assured it's only steam. But the house is coated in dark, black soot. Hmmmm.

Agitation like in the washing machine. Only nothing coming clean. Just keep typing. The words will spill out. Like tepid, colorless blood on the page. Slowly seeping into the cracks. And if you spray the proper chemicals on them, they glow under black light. Remember the lessons of CSI. Because if you spot the serial killer before he gets you, you win a prize! And Nancy Grace will be so proud of you.

The wind is blowing sparkly ice crystals against the windows. It sounds like hail. But it's shiny. And pretty. And cold. And anxious. Remember the cracks. They're underneath, between and within. Let it all seep down. And fill them up. Because then it'll be solid. Warm. And all will be just fine. Just. Fucking. Breathe.

Aborted starts and the resultant stops

A game I play when I try to sleep- coming up with the starting sentences of a novel. Some of them are pretty damned good. Of course, since it's an attempt to put myself to sleep, I forget them all. Just like I forget the acres of dialogue that I create in further attempts to amuse myself. Pivotal stuff. Like everything I say. Whatever. Nothing compelling. Nothing.

Just amusing myself. That's all that matters when I'm tired, cranky, bored, and insomnolent.

Just amusing myself...sort of.

Snow day

There is snow. There is ice. And around here, they don't deal particularly well with either, much less both. Also, considering that the town is comprised of silly-assed steep hills, it's a clusterfuck. We live on one of those hills. Kbot just went to the store for coffee. All bets are off as to whether or not he'll get back up the hill.

Work has closed. Yup. And I will stay home in my jammies contemplating whatever the hell I feel like contemplating. Like the bed. Or the couch. Or what's stored on the Tivo. Oh. Yeah.

Tomorrow, I have jury duty. He looks guilty. That's what I'll repeat when they ask me. I also carry a copy of Crime and Punishment around in my bag, because I'm pretentious, and it's paperback. Do you think they'll notice if I whip that baby out and start reading?

Grapevine

I hear from round about that it's time to sober up, take a bath and go to work.

Not that I'm complaining too loudly- the bath part happens despite my sobriety. Part of the OCD makeup.

The sober up part is really fine too- never been good at holding on to a multi-day or even multi-part of day drunk. Usually just fall asleep.

It's the go to work part that I'm going to whine about a little. What the hell- a lot. It was supposed to be a snow day. The forecasters lied through their teeth- and disappointed again. Seems there was snow- pretty heavy- everywhere but here. I haven't been outside yet- to see if there is ice. If so, I wait it out a while. I am not tackling our hill in the ice- back home I am pretty convinced that we wouldn't have built here. Because it is steep, and winter is always a consideration there. Not just a theoretical happening. But a promised one. Which is probably why I am always thinking about the things that are promised happenings. Like death. And decay.

On that note- STEP AWAY FROM THE TURKEY!!! It is time to throw the leftovers out! I am serious. One more day, and you'll be courting a sick tummy. I speak from experience. Mama says 3-4 days max. Then it's going to turn. We made ourselves silly sick last year by eating the bird way past its expiration date. Until Mama said, "throw the turkey away, dummy!" And we did. And we recovered. And we understood. Mama made us see the light. Much like Lou Reed. Only with fewer needles and cigarettes. Mama looks one hell of a lot better than Lou. Might not have the street cred, but I doubt she cares much. If at all. Probably doesn't know who the hell Lou Reed is. Which would just figure.

THROW THE TURKEY AWAY!!!

What do ya got for me now?

So. You think you can telll....
me all your tales...
Blue skies and veils...
Do you feel a bad feeling...
and pick up the phone...
Cry and moan...
Do you think you can tell...
Did you take all your strength...
And give in...
Crumble within...
Wilt and turn thin...
Oh... If it could be clear...
There's just only so much that I can endure
year after year
Blowing hard as if after a run...
Even though you're filtered by tears...
If it could be clear...

(cue the acoustic guitar solo- thanks to P.F.- just wanted to add my own words...)

Weighing in on the new James

Saw the new Bond film last night. I have to say it was a departure- actual character development- a break from the non-stop action- breathing space.

So that was good. I enjoyed it. Then I came home and started picking apart the plot. Because there were niggling details that bothered me. We talked about them until midnight. Because that's the way we roll around here. Pedanticism at its finest! But seriously- there were an awful lot of plot problems. You'd think that as part of the multi-million dollar budget, someone would fix those. Not that they worry horribly in this genre about people like me analyzing character intent, etc. But it would be wonderful to go to one of these, enjoy the spectacle and walk away in amazed satisfaction that nothing stupid happened to the story.

I read the original book in Jr. High (Dad had the whole collection- and I must say they were an ...ahem...educational set of books), and think it might merit a re-read. I've always had a smallish torch for Ian Flemming- just for Chitty chitty Bang bang- the book, not the cloyingly insufferable movie. But like I said, I might have to re-read that one.

I gotta say that Daniel Craig is the ...prettiest...Bond- below the neck. Ahem.

It's the holiday I used to dread

Mainly because it came fully loaded with family strife. Not my parents. The auxiliary family. But those days are gone. And those people are pretty much gone. Or at least in a very benign form now.

So. Friends are due to arrive any moment to use our fabulous kitchen to cook us dinner. Because we can only have this fabulous kitchen for a few more months. Then it's back to squalor for the likes of us. Where cooking gruel will tax the resources at hand.

So. What am I going to prattle on about being all thankful for n shit? Those same friends. And the others who I enjoy.

What else? kitties. Because if I don't say that they will hurt me good.

And bonsai trees. And orchids- especially cattleyas.

And that today I don't have to see the Prairie Home Companion movie. Because I hate the radio show so very, very badly. Makes my tummy ache, I hate it so much. And because, like I said before, I find Altman films unwatchable. The combo platter would probably have me in an ICU unit for a week or so. My insurance probably wouldn't cover it. So we would be bankrupt and living in a small enclave of our cars and motorcycles- in our friend's yard. In the rain. So we would all have headcolds.

I am very glad that OJ has been denied a forum to self-aggrandize. The fucking rat bastard.

I am glad that the Griz beat the Cats. PPPPOOOOORRRRR Bobcats!!!

I am glad that I have fingers. Because they are pretty cool when you think about it.

I am glad that I have t-shirt sheets on the bed. Because they are yummy delicious- even when I can't sleep properly.

I am glad for Creme Brulee. Just because it exists. I don't have any right now, and have no hope of acquiring any in the near future. But if I had a world of my own, like the Mormon men, I would use Creme Brulee as currency. It would be messy, but delicious. Because it would have to be eaten, or it would spoil.

I am very glad that The Double Life of Veronique has been released on DVD finally. By Criterion. I was standing in line for my copy. Actually- there wasn't a line. Of course. That was for the PS3. I was just the geek who had to stop by B & N on the way home from work so that I could buy the ONLY copy they had. Or I would die. Because Keislowski is worth a good dozen Altmans any day of the week. Any day. And his death was so blasted premature as to be a good-sized tragedy.

And finally- because my hands are getting tired of typing, and I am running out of things to say- I am glad that the people I love are doing well. Even the grandmother- who is stable, safe, and receiving the best care that she can get. She might not be sure of the decade, or the name of the color she's wearing, but she will be warm, dry, and eat well. And everyone else is good. What more could I ask for?

the lotto. that's what. I could ask for the lotto. To win it. Today.

Couldn't sleep for shit last night

So. There were all these things spinning in my head.

Stupid, stupid things.

Like: did Monty Python have the three-headed knight in the forest as an homage to the myth of Cerberus? (yeah- LX- thank's for the Cerberus thing- see where it pops up?)

And: will my friend who appears to have totally dumped me ever speak to me again (and do I care if she does)?

And: Why don't I love Altman's films as much as everyone else seems to? I actually despise his films. Actively loathe them. Can't watch them. Gosford Park was unendurable.

And: if it keeps raining like this will there be mudslides in our neighborhood? Under our house? What does a mudslide sound like? Was that a mudslide? Or just a naughty cat?

And: does Lindsey Lohan really cut herself? If so, why doesn't someone pull in an expert to take care of things? And why am I even speculating about this?

And then there are the songs- echoing in my brain. Morrissey. REM. crappity crap crap. Endlessly looping away- even when I don't know the words. The music still echoes in there. If you put your ear up against my head, you would probably hear it. Like the soundtrack to a hopelessly cliche John Hughes teen movie.

And on and on and on....until I finally dragged myself out of bed. To go to work. And on and on and on...but then- 4 days off. And all is well.

Confidential to Bill

dude- Your comments are all winky. I tried to go there and it pulled up my dashboard. Not cool at all.

So. I have a running bet with myself over who you're talking about in your post. And I feel for you. It's tough when past loyalties get all in a bunch over something like that. All I can say is be nice to yourself. You are supposed to get business. You are supposed to be successful. YOU HAVE PAID YOUR DUES!!! Don't forget that. And if the person I'm thinking of helped you along the way, great. That was good of him/her. But that doesn't mean that you owe him/her a debt forever. And it doesn't mean that you have to be some kind of patsy. He/she wouldn't do it for you. So- good luck, godspeed, and do a good job. Conquer. You'll be fine. I'm proud of you. And M-Man. You both have done something very daring, but something that you are totally capable of. And I'm just so glad for the both of you!

And I really liked Will Smith

Now I am convinced that he's another Hollywood idiot. Just like the rest. Idiot.

From msnbc.com-
Will Smith says he and his wife Jada Pinkett Smith homeschool their children because the most valuable things he learned he didn’t get from school. “The date of the Boston Tea Party does not matter,” Smith told Reader’s Digest. “I know how to learn anything I want to learn. I absolutely know that I could learn how to fly the space shuttle because someone else knows how to fly it, and they put it in a book. Give me the book, and I do not need somebody to stand up in front of the class.”

Now to be charitable, it's cool that he gives a shit. But the charity ends there. I really question the judgement of sending his kids off into the world without the input of teachers and social peers- even peers not in his social circle. I had some amazing teachers, and some crappy ones. Each as valuable as the next. Without the crappy ones, I wouldn't have known that there can be crappy professionals. And that's value, folks. That not every expert has the answer. I think that by hermetically sealing off their kids- especially with the kind of money involved, they run a very real risk of creating patsys. And I don't give a rat's ass about Will's street cred. By now the edge has been blunted, and those kids don't share the experience. No fucking way. Him telling them about it has no relevance. About as effective as my grandfather prattling away about his war experiences. When he saw no action on any front- vis a vis actual combat, that is.

And the arrogance to imply that because he can actually read a book he is on par with the person who a) wrote the book, and b)studied and became an expert/professional...well, chalk that one up to an actor's hubris. Somewhere along the line it seems, Mr Smith has lost touch with a bit of reality. Now he only plays one on tv. So look out world- if he plays a doctor, he'll be performing surgery on the dining room table in no time- because he read a book about it.

I'm probably taking his comments too literally- but I think there is a real danger there. The crazy neighbor chick pulled her troubled little girl out of school and is allegedly "homeschooling" her. It isn't good. That little girl not only is deprived of people who can help her, but will grow up with a serious disadvantage socially and educationally. Because her mother is somewhat of a slackjaw who doesn't appear to be doing a damned thing besides plopping the kid in front of a computer and then leaving for the day. Not that this is the case with the Smith familia- but the danger is there- if Will does it, then I can do it. Yeah.

Oh- and I did get the job extended. Now the good part- I can rely on a paycheck past the end of the month. The bad part- the job tends towards the crazy. Which is not boring...but is damaging...in another sense...who the hell needs an ego, anyway?

Cue the Vader overture

Today I discover my fate for the next few months. See my contract expires around the end of the year. And I have requested to know if I'm going to be around thereabouts for any longer than that. See our lease expires at the end of January- and we have to move. Unless the government screws up and keeps our landlady over there for a longer stay. I certainly hope not- because as much as I long to keep her cat with us forever, I do want her to come home. She's earned it.

And the fate of the job determines in part the location of the new home. West Seattle is the most wonderful place I have found in the area. But it's a beeitch to get to Redmond. Took me 2 fucking hours the other night to get home. That's 17 miles, peeps. And that shit ain't fun. Not to mention that I was hungry as hell, and now am carrying provisions in the car. Because Kbot doesn't need to have me arriving at home in a "state". That is not pretty.

And the fate of the job determines the holiday plans. If no job, no go to MT for Christmas. The trip gets postponed for a week or two. Which is really no great hardship, but there will certainly be less spent on presents for all and sundry as well. Which I know doesn't matter to them, but it does matter to me. Because. Well- it's that Christmas thing. Everyone wants it to be perfect and all. I guess.

So I'll hear today. And then ...we'll see...

Another image from the past

And rather than be cool about it and just scan and post the damned thing, I think I'll just talk about it. Because I feel like rolling that way today. Welcome to my hell. Just talking about it...

And thinking about it. All in one big mental circle jerk. We do si do in this direction, then when the caller says, we change directions, and go in the other direction. And the thoughts remain the same.

The picture today- there is a playground. It's winter, but no snow on the ground. Only the cold. And the clouds of breath above the children. They're not playing. Not the older ones. Who cares what the younger ones are doing. They don't count here. The older ones are bunched up in a couple of groups. They are plotting. There is a war. One group of girls versus the other. Because someone said something about someone and something happened...and fuck it. None of that matters. What matters is that these girls want to feel angry and vindictive.

Why can we see them like this? Well, our observer stands outside it all. Quite deliberately. Not by her choice, mind you. They have chosen. And she has been shut out. That's just the way it is.

The girls circle. And they rant. And they spew venom. It's the way it is.

And the watcher desperately wants to be part of one of the groups. But she can't. Even with the intervention of a well-meaning teacher. Because that never works. And there will always be a reason to push down the loser. Because the taint of losing is infectious. At that age.

Why bring this up now? To explain away the feeling of not belonging. And why it matters sometimes. With perspective comes acceptance, right? Welllllll....not really. With perspective comes....perspective. And the idea that despite the clicking in of old hurt and old whatever, there is plenty around about today that negates the old crap that's dripping in the eaves of the attic. We'll call it a nice big fluffy bed of actual time. Time that has helped not necessarily heal the wounds- but provide that ....perspective...

Between the breakdowns

In communication, in habit, in emotional states.

All is pretty much the same.

Nothing to report of note- just the usual. Like I said. Breakdowns.

If not mine, someone else's.

At work, at play, at life. It's all part of the mix.

I'll be strong for you today, if you promise to return the favor someday. I even promise not to abuse it.

But I will use it.

Because despite the Montana credo of "take care of your own damned self," I can't really function like that.

Too lonely. Too many empty spaces between, where the sound of the wind fills the air. And nothing else. Just the wind. No trees. Just the wind.

And the dark at night when there's no moon is beyond description. Fine with accompanyment. Even if it's musical. But alone...unendurable over the long term.

So to hell with the deer and the antelope. They get shot at this time of year anyway. And then they lay in the beds of pickup trucks- spewing blood down the interstate. Not an appropriate role model at all.

I'll play other games for now. And let the roaming happen elsewhere. In another life, not my own. Because I can't and don't want to disengage enough to make it happen. And I hate the emptiness that's on that other side.

The sun might also rise

And damn if it isn't time. I'm wondering if I am suffering from the seasonal depressional thingy- my mother sent me a lamp that's supposed to help. I guess it's time to turn the damned thing on and see what happens.

Because right about now it's everything I can do to put one foot in front of the other and walk across the room. Getting out of bed is a trial. Despite the kitty who keeps jumping on my tummy and launching himself off the bed. I am hammered. By the Gods. And don't like it much.

This is in all likelihood a very temporary thing. Always is. By later today, I'll be feeling much, much better. Or much, much worse. And then if it's the latter, tomorrow will be totally different. I'm used to these fluctuations. But that doesn't make them feel any better. It's just a little rough around the edges.

I made the mistake of looking at my inbox from work online and saw the sheer volume of crap produced...most of which doesn't have anything to do with me at all. But it still drags me down like lead weights attached to my ankles. Thankfully I am fine with the delete button.

But it does look like a break in the clouds outside. Some small favor from above, and that might make a difference. We'll see. If not, I think it's seriously time to consider baking a batch of cookies. And then eating a few. Despite the weight loss programme. Because warm cookies according to mom are a gift of hope. (or something like that- it's probably against some commandment or other to falsly attribute something to mom- but that just would figure today...)

Nothing to see here...time to move along, folks...

If I close my eyes, in the right way, on the right day, I can look down and see my feet.

Not like they are now. But like they were then. The scale quite different. The toenails basically torn off, because when mom cut them it pinched. A scab or two from stepping on something sharp. Hard as hell on the underside from not wearing shoes all summer long. Sunburned on the top because it was before the days of sunblock.

I remember how it all felt- the world through my feet. Dry, warm dust from the dirt road in front of the house. Cold mud pushing between my toes. Damp cold grass- green-black in the dark. The sand in my sandbox- warm on top, damp underneath. The scalding hot paving stones on the patio. The compressed scratchy carpet in the living room. The smooth painted wood of the stairs. The grainy roughness of the sidewalk. There was a world under my feet.

And every day I was going to travel further in it. I just didn't expect my feet to change so much, and shoes to become a necessity.

It's a corker

Stupid Montana. And Virginia. Have to be drama queens and keep us all waiting. Have to keep the attention. Stupid.

I'm just this close to holding my breath over the imminent political demise of Conrad Burns. He is a crook. He is a wanna-be good ole boy. He tries to perform a "I'm a hick" dog and pony show in person. I've seen it. About as genuine as my hair color. Comes in a bottle, doncha know. I see through it. I have high hopes that the good people of my home state see through it too. But since there's only one precinct left to report, and fewer than 1,000 votes to decide it, maybe my faith is misplaced.

I can only be proud that the members of my immediate family are smarty pants. And not blinded by any kind of stubborn pride to simply vote like they have always voted. That they kept an open mind, and saw through the spin. And saw the corruption within. And voted accordingly. Now the inlaws? I don't know yet. Haven't spoken to them about it. My guess is that they're more in line with the family than with the rural outposts that traditionally support anything running with an R behind the name.

Fucking drama queen state. Gotta make a dramatic entrance.

A funny thing

Seems that some of the more staunchly conservative family members are turning coats and voting straight Dem. ticket this time around.

Gotta say, this makes me a happy girl.

Happy enough not to discuss the dr. appointment yesterday where I found out in a concrete way how much weight you put on with total inactivity for 3 months (due to back, remember). Not a problem. Conrad Burns is in trouble. Rick Santorum has been voted out. All is right with the world for this brief shining moment.

Gotta go watch the returns. This would make a fabulous drinking game. If I didn't have to work tomorrow.

Funny set of circumstances

I find myself spinning off of other blogs. Moodwise and ideawise. Basically it sparks an internal discussion that I lack the discipline to cut off.

Creativity. Depression. Self-editing. Crowd pleasing. All part of the discussion.

Here:

-I don't want to ever feel like I can't explore an idea without freedom. As long as it is safe. And as long as I won't get in trouble for crossing some imaginary line- placed there by friends/family/myself. I'll call it a hearty respect for privacy and leave it there. Maybe that means that there is no freedom. Probably. I get to live with it- since I was dumb enough to share the site with so many who actually know me! There is an implied responsibility to them that I have to keep intact- because they matter.

-that means that when I start to spin into depression, I am careful to keep the perspective intact. Because I don't want to scare these people. And then I don't want to spin too far- it's a bitch to pull out of free fall. Done it many times, at great cost. And no one gets to see the white hair that I hide. But it's always been a flirting with the abyss kind of situation. Only Kboy gets to see the depths of it. And besides scaring the crap out of him, I've learned that there really isn't much use to sharing. Just let it roll. Just wait it out. Just....breathe.

-then there is the waste. Spending tens of thousands of dollars, and years of my life. Pursuing a goal. Then another one. And doing absolutely nothing with either. Because the drive- I don't know exactly where it came from in the first place- just went away. And despite getting through the really hard parts, when it got easy, I bailed. Will it always be this way? Once something is accomplishable, it fades in interest? Pretty fucking stupid. But the bank/government doesn't care. I pay the bills. I pay them on time. My credit is exemplary. I am such the model citizen...

-then there is the disappointment. The regret. That wakes me out of the fugue state that I live in from time to time. Bitter. Like trying to eat a Seville Orange. Very appetizing on the outside, and generally nasty on the inside. But then makes the best marmelade. Ok- lost the analogy there.

-It's just funny to write like this in general. Sharing small pieces of facets of an interior life. Nothing substantial. Like spun sugar (more food analogies- guess I need breakfast after all). Something that disappears easily. And has no real lasting value. Unlike the printed page, I could press a button and make it all go away forever. Two years of output lost- hidden or just plain gone. No trace.

-And then there's the illusion that anyone knows me out here. Like everyone else, it's all about selection. Only sharing what you want. Controlling access to the interior. Playing a game of smoke and mirrors. The friends and family who know me in the real world have a fuller picture, of course. But please bear in mind that I edit heavily here. No way this is a free forum for whatever comes to mind. That could really pose problems. Just like I see others playing the balancing act online. Necessary and prudent. Not words that I ascribed to in the past, but I have learned some tough lessons about discretion. And trust.

-Followed up by the illusion that anyone knows me in here. The adage "know thyself"- Heraclitus- is as far as I can tell bullshit. I can know myself for a minute at a time if I'm lucky. It's like the wind changing. Then a surprise comes along, and I either disappoint or please myself- finding capabilities where I least expected to find them, or finding the lack thereof. What a crapshoot. On a good day.

And that's about all the rambling that I care to indulge in for now. Because there is an orchid show that I didn't go to yesterday. And I have a plant obsession to indulge myself with. And a few more sentences to end with prepositions. Because I love pissing on the memory of my High School English teachers.

Jaysus Mary and Joseph

Just got back from massage and then coffee. And witnessed the following:

At the market, whilst waiting to order, a mom with her really cute little girl spilled a cup of something. They cleaned it up. It was done well. No crying, no anger. Just fine.

So then I get my coffee and go to add the necessary acoutrements which make it ingestable. Mom has the entire counter taken up- her drinks, purse, self are sprawled out like it's her bloody kitchen and she has taken over. And she's chatting with another mom, while taking her sloooowww time getting it together. I am patiently standing there waiting to have access to the creamer and sugar. Because I am like that. Demanding.

Finally, she gets it together. And says to the other mom, "you should call me." Mom 2 says, "I have. I left a voice mail on your cell phone and everything." Mom 1 replies, "really? I didn't get it."

"Oh- I have a new nanny, and she's great."

Badump-ump. I had to laugh and pity the poor nanny. Such disarray. Such nonchalance about others. Such self absorption. All witnessable in about 2 minutes in a grocery store.

Or else, I hadn't had enough caffeine, and was just cranky.

Now to reflect back

Ah. Slept in and all. Time to reflect on the week that was. The life that was. The everything.

Not really. Not up for the task in a day. Not when I have to actually function. Save all that reflection for a roadtrip. Solo, of course- because I try not to burden Kenga with those kinds of things. Who the hell am I kidding- of course I try to burden Kenga with those kinds of things. It's part of the meat and potatoes that makes up our little dog and pony show. He's just good natured enough to at least appear to enjoy it. Suckah. Poor sweet suckah. I postulate, and he philosophizes. It's all good.

Actually it is. And I know how bloody lucky I am for that. He comes home today. Amid rain, an orchid show (where I really must budget myself), kitty unrest (they ran out of food ... and almost died- ask them), and general exhaustion. Seems that I was a big assist in getting 90% of my department on a plane to Europe yesterday. Prep time took all week. There was drama. There was stress aplenty. There was laughter. There were children. There were tears, no doubt. And there is a new coffee machine (Starbucks- brews and grinds fresh for every cup- more buttons than the Space Shuttle, and makes amazing noises). What a comedown. Now that's all over. Well- not completely over, I suppose. I still get to go back on Monday. But the herding of cats exercise- getting a bunch of people in a car to get to the plane on time, despite themselves- part is over.

I put one of the kitties on time out- he was throwing stuff on the floor. I have to go make more substandard coffee and let him out. I'm sure he's forgotten his transgressions. Because he has a brain the size of a pea. And it shows. (what does it say about me that I try to reason with him then?? Crazy fucking beeitch that I am.)

Just waiting

for tonight- when there is no work. No K- he's on another trip to OHIO- no pressure. From any source. Only whatever the hell I want to do with my time. Could involve friends. Could involve myself and the bed. Could involve a good book.

Just waiting for the rainy day to end, all chapters to be closed on the week at work, and the ability to put it all to rest for a couple of days.

Is that asking so damned much?

But who the hell was listening?

There have been a bunch of articles in the local paper about school administrators protecting an inappropriately touchy feely teacher. And an illegal court document sealing. All part of their job.

The sad thing that really bugs me is that the guy was able to get away with groping little girls for well over a decade. Despite parental involvement. Despite little girls telling on him. Despite witnesses coming forward with some pretty sick stories.

He's not working anymore- he's been convicted and is a registered sex offender. But the principals who protected him and themselves are still in the biz.

It reminds me of when I was little. We all knew the teachers who groped. And there were a few. They tended to go for the girls who had actually developed chests. I was exempt. Which was probably very good. But I knew who they were. And one of them was still a teacher when my sister was in high school. Seems he still had the rep.

I always wondered about the teachers' daughters.

I always wondered about if anyone told. And what happened if they did. And why it was allowed. And if any of it was sheer paranoia. Doubt it- the stories were too widespread. But still...it was ugly. And I suspect that there are plenty of other schools with the underground groper network.