Haven't done much writing at all lately- things just have taken over. Life stuff, like work, travel, family, friends, and sunny weather. It's eating at me a bit, though. I would like to just kick back, drink tea and write. But am finding it hard to fit all of everything in. And add to the conundrum allergy medicine that makes me tired, and shake it up. It's a snowy globe of combined optimism, pessimism, and good intentions falling awry. In the center, holding court and immobile is the project itself. It isn't going anywhere, luckily. Just patiently waiting for everything to settle the fuck down, so I can get some work done. In the meantime, distracted by shiny things.

Not clear on why
most things in my life that have been following me
around and about
and under and through
have all been colored purple.
I don't like purple very much.
But there you have it.

Going on a short vacation- home to be with family- and to do some family stuff. Don't know if I'll be online much (like that has really been a habit lately), but still. Will be there, not here. And out of the general work mayhem. They can take care of themselves for a week. It'll be good for them. Absence will make their hearts fonder. Or they'll think I screw up more than I do. We'll see. But first I need to figure out how to unhook my email updates to my phone. Because I will NOT be reading email from work. Uh uh.

I turn the corner and in the trees
I see his face, lurking
in the green darkness, watching
not interested in me, waiting
wanting darkness when he can run
and play in the yards of suburbia
and eat the rabbits who are unfortunate
enough to cross his path
when he smells the breezes in the morning
and hears the birds start to chuckle, knowingly
in the trees at dawn.

I made the second cut yesterday. That one was harder. They set up a bunch of conference rooms in my building and spent the day telling people they were no longer needed. Two of my team got the axe. I felt a sick sense of relief when I found out I could keep my badge. And combine that feeling with guilt. Because I get to keep my badge.

Overall I hope it's done. And that the remainder, if any, are onesies-twosies. Because these days of mass attrition are really horrific.

Smelling the orchids all week, while they bloom.
Reminding me of Grandma orchids from then.
Only not mixed with the smells of industrial laundry
gas station
dust
undercurrents of loss and other emotions
that I was unaware of at that age
they did a good job of protecting
until later, when it all happened anyway
things have a way of doing that.
Falling apart despite the best intentions
and the determination of the dead to outlast
their life
and control beyond the grave.
Never works, really.
The living have a way of selectively following
and justifying the variance.
And choosing for themselves.

Ok, so the guilt got to me. Well played, sir.

While others are concerned with global politics, pandemics, keeping a job, making a living, etc. I have been in another place. Just dealing with a large writing project. Never tackled something like this before, but am not feeling bad about it at all. Actually the opposite. I've gotten a large proportion of it plotted out in outline form, and the first 8 chapters written. I want to finish the outline this weekend, or come damned close. Then I can swing back into it and do the writing part. It is a shitton of work. I feel burdened when I think about how very much it is. But then I remember Annie Proulx's Bird by Bird, and keep perspective. I got some amazing pointers about the process from (of all people), J. R. Ward, of the vampire book fame. If you like that sort of thing, her vampire books are quite a lot of fun. Her last one was a compendium of material, including some serious writing tips and info. I liked that. Mainly because I have no interest in writing about vampires right now, but can definitely appreciate a look into the world of someone who does it for a living.

I am still on the fence about the writing thing, though. I don' t ever foresee a day when I could happily hole up at home without any personal interaction. I think I would become quite addled, and cause my poor husband undue hardship. I am, however, pursuing a different career track- one that will lead to more income, and more contentment overall. I have been going through a series of informational meetings across the company to see what kinds of options are out there for my skills and interests. I am in no huge hurry to vacate my current position, as I do like it, and it doesn't tax me too much- I enjoy having sufficient mental real estate to come home and function like a human. New jobs at that company don't lend themselves to that at all. Part of the culture.

Anyway, I think I have settled on technical editing. There is much, much to learn before even trying for that goal, but it is a start, and I have a couple of supportive contacts who have offered to help me get there. It is a relief, really, to know that I am not stuck. And that I will get somewhere eventually. And that I know where that somewhere is, so to speak. It's actually a new feeling. Prior to this, I generally had to take what came, and just leap. If I was lucky it worked. If I wasn't there was misery all around. But the infusion of hope into the mix really does help.

So now I'm in a revision state with my resume- it takes so much time to evaluate and really dig into the content with the intent of showcasing a set of skills that I have never really emphasized, but have relied upon heavily. There really is no rest. But that is fine. I can always rest when I'm dead, right?

Otherwise, all is well. All is fine. The sun is finally shining, the cats are happy, Kman is sleeping in, and I am facing a relatively quiet day at work. All the better for a Friday.

Nothing profound. Just the facts.

Been sidetracked by a more demanding writing project lately. Things here are likely to slow down more- got to get more headway on that before I feel that blogging is a priority. Only so many hours...you get the point. Peace out, yo.

Am finding the balance a little more difficult lately. Mainly because the time is just slipping away from me. And I am letting it go. Willingly.

And am finding discretion more difficult lately. Discovering many things about people in my life, and basically ignoring that information. Because I told a couple of people last week, "No one likes a tattle tale." And I include myself in that. Keeping my big mouth shut. Willingly.

Am trying to eliminate the taste of bitterness from my mouth. Figurative, not literal. Just to be clear here. But there seems to be so much loss. So much difficulty. And so much wasted. But then it's all about the hope. Keeping that in mind. I am not dead yet. I keep getting out of bed. Willingly.

Listening to some ass on the Today show discuss saving money. I didn't put the Today show on, by the way. I would never do such a thing. All of the polished, enforced good cheer does me in. First thing in the morning, even. Wears me out. I don't know how to deal with all that. Is it expected? That I induce that kind of cheer in my own life? I don't think I can live up to that expectation. Not really.

Not this early in the morning.

Had an interesting time at the park. We go there to feed the ducks. Evidently this is forbidden. We have never stopped at the kiosks and read the sign saying it is forbidden. We just go and feed them stale bread, and are all happy.

So today, whilst in duck heaven, two children- a boy and a girl, who looked alarmingly like the twins in "The Shining," came up to us and told us that feeding the ducks is forbidden. We saw their parents at a bench nearby watching. We listened to the children, and then Kman did something odd. He walked over to the parents and discussed the duck feeding moratorium directly with them. They were very put off that we would approach them directly. That is why they sent their children to do the heavy lifting. Kman was very nice about it, despite being rather pissed off at them using their children as tools. And the parents were pleasantly uncomfortable.

We then had a very animated discussion about parenting, and putting children into the role of being informers/policemen. I suspect that these folks come from another land, and don't realize that that kind of behavior can cause some serious ramifications in some places. Like parks in other parts of the area. Where the people being told not to feed the ducks might be a little less conciliatory about it. I dunno. It was ballsy and icky. I feel sorry for the kids. And the ducks. Who went hungry.

Oh my. These writing muscles aren't getting the workout they need. Bits and bites of words just don't lend themselves to anything besides the odd quip. Not all that satisfying.

But have been unable to sustain more than a casual relationship with thoughts lately. All the deep thoughts synapses have taken a break. I suppose that isn't too horrible. But it isn't great, either.

So, I just finished a crappy book by a woman who hates her mother. Take that back, it's more than hate. And what I thought was particularly pathological about her, besides the fact that she has children, is that she had so little insight into herself to recognize that she could use a heavy dose of therapy, and needed to lose the narcissistic self-absorption. I can only wonder what kind of train wreck she is inflicting on her children. Oh, and she was also chock-full-of smug self-satisfaction. What a toxic combo. I hope I never run into her when I visit old home town. The urge to punch her in the throat is pretty strong. Which I guess, means her book was successful on some level. It inspired me to hate her. I think that's a strong reaction. Augusten Burroughs didn't do that for me- just thought he was kind of pitiful. Ditto most of the other revelatory memoirs that I have ingested. They tend to have that unfortunate tone of payback rather than anything remotely resembling insight. I also have very little patience for what comes off as a bunch of whiney complaints- when they come from the keyboard of an adult, that is. From children, it's a different story. But I always thought you were supposed to grow out of whiney crap like that.

I am jealous. That she got a book deal in the first place. It doesn't hurt that her father is one hell of a well-connected man in the publishing world. It doesn't hurt that she comes from the kind of old money that Gatsby was so horribly fond of. Nope, doesn't hurt at all. And I am full of toxic sour grapes about it.

I guess this is one of the primary reasons I have always preferred biography to the auto kind. I like the filter of another person's perception. And the illusion of objectivity. Because I did read a long time ago an article by a biographer. The obsession needed to pull off the stunt of researching another human being and writing about them, and becoming an expert on them is something unusual. I don't share it. But I think it is interesting. And I do enjoy trying to parse out what the fixation of the author is. If they are an apologist, or an analyst, or what kind of filter they are trying to apply to thier view of the subject.

I also have always considered autobiographies to be lies. I see them as craven attempts to sway public opinion, by selectively telling the truth. I am not horribly interested in reading PR attempts. Not in my personal time, or in my professional time. I see them as manipulative and sort of crass. If these folks were all that interested in being honestly remembered for posterity, they would leave all of their archives of data to an institution and leave it at that. Let others interpret. Because by the basic premise of being in thier own skin, they aren't able to do so without prejudice.

There have been several autobiographies that I will admit are interesting- mainly because of the side-story that they tell. Julia Phillips in "You'll Never Have Lunch in This Town Again," gets the feeling and texture of Hollywood in the 70s down very well. But I didn't like her. And found her actual writing to be torturous. So in that sense, she got in her own way.

Probably the best of the bunch is Dominick Dunne. He is a star fucker, and always has been. I think he would annoy the piss out of me in real life. But he is very good at the roman a clef, and does a great job of reporting celebrity legal strife. I think that as a recovering addict, he has a better sense of humility in a way than a lot of them do, but still figure that he's up to something when he writes about himself.

I guess that this can serve nicely as my Declaration Not to Write a Memoir. And if I break it some day, anyone who reads this has my full permission to call me out.

I've been wearing my art school shoes to work. I haven't shined them- they are still smudged and scuffed from loading kilns and kicking debris out of the way. They are still in pretty good shape though. I have been trying to remind myself that this is part of my reality too. That it's not all business class and sunshine in a high-rise building.That there are bone deep realities that I can't just ignore and hope will go away.

There is the feral cat issue. Because at core, that is what defines a large part of me. It just is. I am ok with it, but can't spend a lot of time thinking about it or I get sad. Sad because so much is gone. And I miss the ferocity. I miss the passion. I miss the ability to just do things without worrying about cause and effect. I miss the ability to not worry about self-editing all the time.

The pressure mounts, the decisions get postponed, the actual work gets jettisoned in favor of being busy. And tired. Tired all the time. If Charlie Kaufman is right, it's likely cancer, and I will die. But then that is no surprise, really. I expect to end some day. And I don't know if it's really worth the effort to try and accomplish everything first. Futile, indeed. Ah, ennui. Welcome to the club. There are some very nice couches over there. Make yourself at home.

Another good one. There is a friend of ours who plays hockey every winter. He is a tough guy. He survived a plane crash, wherein his friend, the pilot, wound up simple for life, and he had his back broken. His main complaint was that the morphine drip made him horny, and his wife wouldn't accommodate him in the hospital while he was in a body cast.

So, he is playing hockey. And during the game, his hand gets smacked by the puck. He continues to play, until the bitter end. He pulls off his glove, and blood pours out. The puck had taken off the tip of his pinky finger. He went home and washed it, and put on a bandaid. His wife made him go to the doctor and get stitches. He was out for the season.

The following season, he was getting ready to hit the ice, and he put his glove on. The same one, of course, because it was only blood. But there was something in the finger. He shook it out, and something resembling a raisin hit the ice. It was, of course, the end of his finger from the previous year.

We love him.

I've been pondering something for several days now, with varying degrees of anger and perplexed confusion. I have several friends who are all behind the Facebook initiative to provide forgiveness for student loans. And I find myself bone-deep opposed. Just viscerally opposed. It is on such a gut level that I am actually amazed- that something that would benefit me and Kman would inspire such venom in my soul.

Here's my issue. I am not in need of a fucking government handout. I do not want the loan that I signed the promissory note for to become an additional burden on the American taxpayer. I budget to afford the payments, and don't really mind that, as it was part of the overall cost when I signed the papers. I will repeat myself. I don't need a fucking government handout. I understand what that would mean, and think that it would be a travesty. I would prefer that the money goes to people who deserve and need it more.

My interpretation of the effort, which to be fair, is probably a tad jaundiced, is that these are a bunch of college-educated middle-class kids who believe that they should be allowed to re-allocate their loan payments towards something more to their liking. And if it is a true financial hardship to make the payments, ought to consider coming up with a budget, or getting another job. Because no one put a gun to their heads and made them sign the promissory note in the first place. No one said that they had to go into debt to get an education. Plenty of people work their way through school, and yes, it takes one hell of a lot longer. But they do it. Others attend cheaper colleges to afford it. Something about keeping the long-term goal of living debt free in mind seems to have escaped some of these folks. And it pisses me off. Fucking whiners.

Now that I have vented, I know that I am probably being unfair. If so, please educate me. Tell me why it's a priority to provide loan forgiveness and a larger tax burden. Tell me why these college-educated people need money that jobless people also need. Tell me why. I want to understand, but my emotions keep getting in the way. I don't want a fucking government handout. That's what resonates in me right now.

I am unsure how far their efforts will go. I kind of doubt that congress can get this one passed- it seems like a really tough pill to swallow. Especially if there is an across-the-board examination of what these people bring home pay-wise. I suspect that the money would be better spent providing scholarships to kids whose parents have lost their jobs. Or to spend the money on a boosted unemployment system, perhaps. Or to assist people who have lost their jobs in paying their house payments/utility bills, etc. Or to bolster the budgets of local food banks. All more worthy in my opinion than a bunch of people who don't want to be bothered to pay for their own fucking educations.

Ah, and there I go again. Getting all worked up. Nice. I had hoped that writing this down would temper my ire a bit. But I don't think it's going to happen like that. I think I am going to keep getting pissy. So seriously, if you have a differing opinion, please share. I want to understand. And I promise to keep my temper under control and listen. Or do my best to try.

Following my own damned advice

There was a little girl named Poppy. I love the name Poppy. It sings. It reminds me of food.

She stank. No one knew why Poppy stank, but she stank. (full disclosure- Poppy is the cousin of a childhood friend of Kman)

So Poppy stank. The teachers called her parents, and told them that Poppy stank. Her parents, mortified, did everything that they could think of. They bathed Poppy. They perfumed Poppy. They watched what Poppy ate. Nothing worked. Poppy still stank.

Rather than raise a permanently stinking daughter, they finally took Poppy to the doctor. The doctor was perplexed. Finally the doctor had an idea. He took an xray of Poppy's head. Then he operated on her head.

Seems that months and months ago, Poppy had stuck a couple of paper drinking-straw wrappers up her nose. There the wrappers had rotted in her sinuses. And made her stink. The doctor removed the wrappers surgically and treated the infection that had caused the prodigious smell.

Poppy didn't stink any more.

I got reconnected with some old friends recently. You can figure out the social network device that I used- no need to belabor the whole thing. But interestingly a few of them have stayed in their hometowns. Not necessarily the same as mine anymore, but they have lived in the same place for decades. I just can't fathom. I just can't. Like my father, who lives in the town he grew up in. The town where his father was born (or actually 10 miles East of there, if you need precision). I just can't fathom.

I needed to escape. It's a lovely place, really. Hard to imagine being smothered by a place so thoroughly when you go there. A huge valley, surrounded by mountains, and more sky than expected. But still. It smothered. It constricted. I needed to escape. I didn't go far at first- just to another valley. Narrower, with mountains that were closer together and a river. But it was enough for a while. Then I escaped further, to a desert valley, where the mountains shimmered whitely in the distance, and the landscape lacked all signs of life and hospitality. But I did come back. And it was familiar and strange at the same time. And still, after a few days, I feel the walls closing in. And I need to leave.

I just can't imagine knowing a place where I live to the extent that my friends do their hometowns. I just can't. I wonder if they see new things anymore, or if they just muddle on and do the regular. I don't actually really want to wrap my head around it, as the idea of being a resident of a place for that long just makes me shudder. I have become a nomad in my older age.

Ok, interesting side effect of the cold. I am having more vivid dreams. Not VIVID dreams like the porn studio. But the kind that I can parse out the next day and get interesting ideas from. One in particular solved the main issue that I was having with my writing project. So now I have to take a bunch of notes and get rolling on that project again- which is probably the best news I've had in weeks.

And in other news, we get to keep the kitty. Sanity in the form of the husband with the firm stance took over and overrode the momentary lapse. I am relieved, because it is now a love match. But I am still sad for her. She is not really happy about the whole thing. Which I can understand- I think a large part of it is a sense of being out of control of something important. She is one of those mover and shaker kinds of women, and not being able to solve this one seems to really bother her. I can sympathize. Being jobless for so damned long a few years ago kind of solved that for me. Had to assume a more Zen path or go batshit. But that doesn't mean that I don't go there myself on occasion. Just to visit.

More convoluted dreams of the past, present, and things that never happened posing as history. In a way it's like being in my very own personal Terry Gilliam movie. But the disturbing thing is the discombobulation upon waking. The photo albums I was looking at with my father in one of the dreams don't exist. The photos aren't real. But they felt like it.

I guess I should credit being sick and kind of jittery when I go to bed. Does something no doubt to the synapses. That or I am finally losing my mind. Could be. Could very easily be. There has always been a rather tenuous feeling of grasping at my sanity- just one little step in the wrong (or right) direction, and everything will alter. Or that's what if feels like. Very good reason to leave unprofessional pharmacology alone. And I do. But I wonder.

We have seen two movies in the last week that had Edie Sedgewick in them. Not like I should view that as some kind of omen, just cause for comment. Both examined her maybe relationship with Dylan. Only not using his name. Because of lawsuits, I am guessing. Betcha he has some very mean attorneys. I am guessing. No one gets that famous and lives that long without some line of defense. He seems like a cagey man anyway. Never have been fond of him. Not likely to develop an affinity at this late stage.

And now on with it. Gotta muster up some enthusiasm, put on the game face and proceed onward, as though it all matters.

So the fun of groggy thinking and feeling unable to string a coherent sentence together is in full force. Just because I have the cold that is going around hereabouts.

Otherwise, it has been nothing to write home about. Nothing.

It has been a couple of days of feverish dreams, without the fever, achy bones and sniffles. And at the heart of it, the realization that I haven't left some things behind very far.

I have always had trouble calling in sick. Basically because as a child I faked it a lot. In retrospect these were mental health days. I hated school. Absolutely loathed it. I loved learning. But hated my classmates. They were horrible little beasts. And all I wanted to do was escape. It was so much easier to convince my mother that I was feeling sick and avoid the whole thing. But I knew that I shouldn't be home. That I should be in school. Enduring them.

To this day, it is hard to call in. Mainly because even if I feel horrible (like yesterday), I still hesitate. I feel guilty for the time spend not working. I feel guilty for the time spent at home. I feel like I am goofing off, even though it feels necessary at the same time. And I certainly don't hate my co-workers. I gave up on keeping those kinds of jobs years ago, when I realized that life was too bloody short to endure that kind of self-inflicted misery. (In your face Financial Aid Department at major PAC 10 school- you fuckers).

Frailty isn't my strong suit. But there you have it. Gotta just give in. And not feel integral to the machine for a day. Because in the end, I would feel worse infecting others with this one. Oh, and the cats want me to return to bed. They love the large warm thing that just lays there. It's better than the bed alone.

Yeah. All is sort of well now. But it's a holding pattern. And I think that no matter what certain things will end in tears. Not sure whose, but they will happen. But then there's nothing overwhelmingly unique about that. Lots of tears out there.

And now I am listening to the news people savage the scary, crazy lady who has too many kids. I think that the whole point of it is that she wants the attention. But giving it to her is bad. I say ignore her. She'll go away. And eventually the state will step in and take over the children. Or not. I really can't muster up more than apathy about the whole thing anyway. Just don't really care. It's just sad. And sordid. Whatever.

Some rapper dude beats the tar out of his girlfriend. Who also happens to be famous. Oh well. Just shows that domestic violence happens to famous people too. Again. Sad and sordid. Whatever.

Don't quite know when I got all jaded. But it happened. And right now I'm fighting a cold, and feeling unusually passionless about this crap. Whatever.

Sweet Jesus. I am listening to the news. They are discussing cost cutting whilst going out to eat. "Choose an appetizer as a main course." "Don't pick up the tab, share the cost." "Drink water."

How about this, just eat at home if you can't afford to dine out? Ya think?

I am getting frustrated by the whole economic thing. I get very full of rage (chock full o' rage) when I think about bailing out people who don't have the sense to not spend what they don't have. Especially when that sense of entitlement is involved.

Oh, now see, here we go. All up in the judgment space. This is where I am very comfortable, feeling all superior. But I don't really like this place. Not really. Because I know that it is mean. And I know that it is transparent. The same scrutiny that I pull on others doesn't look so good when I apply it inward. Oh my, yes.

Now since I haven't achieved my Zen master state yet, these are the pitfalls I get to fall into on a daily basis. Like everyone, no? And I will admit that I haven't been knowingly working towards Zen master. Looks a little unlikely.

Now Jedi master, maybe. There are a couple of Jedi mind tricks that I have up my sleeve. But just talking about them makes me so very not a Jedi.

And this is getting stupid. I am going to work now. Where I can put on my game face, spread joy and sunshine, and polish up the Jedi mind tricks on the unsuspecting populace.

No I haven't forgotten you. The original wordspace is always in the back of my mind. Mixed with guilt, I should be writing more. But then. There has been a lot to deal with.

A death in the family. Unexpected. But still sad, nontheless.

A layoff round at work. Not as unexpected, but changing the course of things for many forever.

A leaper at my workplace. The 28th floor is very effective at stopping the heart. And no, he wasn't laid off. Just messed up.

A round of dentistry. The right side of my mouth is fixed for a very long time, I hope. This week we tackle the left. Then we are done.

Work issues for Kman- his boss quit suddenly. And now there is a lot of change in his air too.

And over it all, just tired. Very tired. Felt like it took everything in me just to get out of bed in the morning.

Ah, but putting on a happyish face in the other outside land of words and friends and coworkers and whateverthehell you call them. Because the walls have ears, and the friends aren't always as bedrock as you would like. But there you have it. The danger of networking. And mixing the metaphors. And mixing the worlds within which you roam. But I am not really complaining. More like explaining.

But you likely know all this already. Because you patiently wait for me to find the words. And take the time. And express whatever.

Had a rough week- and wasn't up to writing much.

Still like that- trying to follow the golden rule about nothing nice to say=keep your trap shut.

But it's hard. Nothing and no one rises to the occasion, and there are so many cracks in the firmament. All I want to do is point them out and fix them. But it's not my job. It's not within my capacity. And in some instances, it is none of my business.

So I keep it to myself, and let it roll. Figuring that I'll either get over it, or accept it, and move the hell on.

But it takes time.

And layoffs suck. Even when you get to stay. Mainly because there's not any guarantee that it'll last. Now both of us have experienced it, and neither of us is going to be much beyond hunker down mode for a while.

So, yeah. That's where it's at. January appears to be the culmination of a ton of crappy shit. Hope February goes a little further in the positive direction. Feh.

I was thinking about writer's block. And, yes, it's personal. And I have it. But the reason makes sense to me, and will be summarily dealt with.

Years ago, I was in art school. I loved it. I was committed. And then I hit the wall. I came to understand that in order to continue, and be an artist I had to deal with two very difficult issues. The first was that the art world is chock full o' assholes, and I would have to kiss many of their asses to get ahead, and thus bury my self respect in a deep hole. The other was that I would have to fully embrace where my art came from. To be honest, it is not a very pleasant place. Or wasn't at that point in my life. I would have to let the dark side really out of the mason jar in the upper shelf of the closet and use it to create those pieces that needed to be created. In the meantime, I knew that I was becoming more and more difficult to live with. Both inside and outside. And I made a choice. I chose to take a sane road and leave the art thing behind. It was not easy, by any estimation. But I don't regret it for a minute. Not being batshit crazy, living alone and dealing with art world assholes is just fine with me.

So the writing. The problem comes from a similar place. Not the mason jar of goodies, exactly- that has been opened in a safe place and dealt with accordingly. But more of a place of fear. I am at the place where I need to get the hell out of the way of the story and the characters and let them live and breathe. And the process scares the hell out of me. Being (oh surprise!) somewhat of a control freak, letting those voices just flow is really unsettling. Funny thing though, that was the part of creating art that I loved the most. The flow when it hit. I remember those times the most. But I am having a little trouble allowing it back. And need to just step aside, and trust that the infrastructure that I have built as my life in general will be just fine. Ah, there is that tricky word- trust. Never a strong suite in my deck. But I suppose it is better than faith. Because that suite is not represented at all. Trust. Feh.

So there you have it. Time to face the demons that remain and let the dice roll (since I am misusing gambling metaphors all over the place- I'll just throw them around like pixie dust). Because the story is a good one, and the characters have a great story to tell. They depend on me, and I have to man up and do this. Or I guarantee that I will have regrets over this one.

I've been thinking more and more about how very interesting the whole choices as destiny thing is. I can't help but fixate a bit on how one choice, that might seem inconsequential, can have the momentum and ability to shift a life forever. Not just the "driving down that road on that day" like in "Adaptation". But more like the decision that a person can make that basically dooms them through the resultant choices. The one tipping point that creates a downward spiral. The one that just can't be undone. I think that prisons are full of those kinds of realities. And in a less dramatic sense, lots of unhappy lives are part of that decision process.

Just been thinking about it a lot.

And as a postscript to my poor aunt's tale, seems that they found undiagnosed and untreated MS when they conducted the autopsy. Fuckers. Fuckers. Fuckers. Oh, and she died of pneumonia. Ah, the rage is building...

I always thought of my aunt as the glamorous one. First off, she was not my mom. That adds a certain luster. And she was fabulous. She and her husband were dynamic and fun. They played all the time. It was only much later that I was able to apply the Aesop's fable about the ant and the grasshopper to the situation, and be quite thankful that I am the product of ants. Versus the sad son of the grasshoppers. Not sure what he does with his time, but from what I hear it is generally kinda underachieving.

So she died yesterday. The first of that generation in over 20 years (the other death was shocking and an aberration of sorts). This one was natural causes, but my mother maintains that Canada killed her. She has good reasons for her bitterness. About 15 or so years ago, a mounty ran over my aunt and broke both of her legs and threw her through the windshield of the parked truck next to her. She never fully recovered from those injuries, and subsequently lacked both PT care, and developed arthritis in both legs. She also developed osteoporosis, and was in great pain for the last several years. I guess her death was hastened by a flu virus that was under-treated by the 3 different doctors that my uncle took her to in the last week. She was too weak to withstand it, and died in his arms yesterday. After 38 years together. He is just crushed. We are all sad. And my mom is angry as hell. Her direct quote, "she would've had another 10 years down here with proper care." No one can understand why the hell she wasn't in the hospital in that condition. It makes no sense.

But there you have it. The woman made fabulously poor choices with dramatic consistency, but lived a truly genuine life both despite and because of those choices. She was kind. She was pretty. She was funny and fun. And I wish that I had been in touch with her more in the last few years. Always with the regrets, no?

She ran around all the time. Outdoors and indoors.
She was barefoot all summer in the grass.
She killed bugs and spiders with delight and satisfaction. She thought it was heroic.
She tried to catch butterflies, but only to look, not to hurt.
She got into everything.
She liked raspberries the best.
She liked the smell of the dog.
She was slow to learn how to ride her purple bike.
She wanted everyone to like her.
She was full of ill-contained passion.
She picked everything up, but rarely broke anything.
She thought that everything was fun.

Got some words of wisdom from my mentor at work. She is really good. Comes from a different place professionally and personally, and I really value her insights. She told me to calm the hell down. I was in a dither about not having clearly defined goals, and slipping on some of the ones that are already established. She told me to stop it. Be good. Give it a month or so and reevaluate what is important.

Perspective, I think it's called. Been lacking around here in my head, lately. Just because I have slipped into the element of immediate. Everything appears important. Everything appears to be imperative. And it's good to have someone call me on that and tell me to knock it off.

I think that part of the problem is where I work, and with whom. It is merely a huge chunk of the culture there, and with them. That's not going to change any time soon, and sure as hell isn't going to be prompted to change by me. I am a small cog in a very large sprocket. And I don't think that I can totally pull out of the collective madness- it's just the way the place works.

But the personal stuff can be evaluated differently. As is appropriate. I push Kman to evaluate and make choices and pursue goals and develop dreams. I push myself too. But I am thinking that it might not hurt to relax. Just relax. And carry on. Wayward son.

It's not what I expected. I just realized this after all of these years. I'm not complaining, mind you. But it's not what I thought it would be, once upon a time.

I thought that the first ever would be the last. I thought that those feelings of immolation and annihilation would endure forever. I thought that it would be perfect. I thought that every day would sustain a level of intimacy and exquisite agony. I thought that it would consume me, and that I didn't matter as an individual in the equation.

Then I grew up. I had at least one that fit the bill. And then I saw the side effects. And I saw myself disintegrating into something lesser than myself. I knew the frustration of always being wrong. I knew the frustration of giving more than should justifiably be asked. And I grew up.

Part of me still yearns for that feeling though. Even though I know that it is very, very wrong. I want to be consumed. I want to be overwhelmed.

And then I remember. I remember and I forget. And then it is all different. And it is just fine.

So while it snows again, I was looking outside and remembering.

The best snow day ever. Was at my Great Grandmother's house in East Helena. I was dropped off early in the day, not sure why- don't remember. I was under the age of 5, and it was a very snowy day. My cousins were around. We played in the yard in the snow. I remember not wanting to come inside. I remember building a snow fort, and throwing snow balls. I remember it getting dark and wanting to stay outside in my little red snow suit. And continuing to build the snow fort. It was the most important thing in the world. My mittens were soaked. I couldn't feel my fingers. But that didn't matter. I needed to build that fort.

When my parents arrived, I had to go inside. I remember the blast of warmth when I entered the living room. It was a pretty small room, packed with adults. The heat register in the floor was blowing hot air upwards. There were many voices speaking at once in a tumult of noise. It was all so different from the silence punctuated by the laughter outside.

I remember the ache of my fingers. It was the first time I remember thawing out from the cold. I remember my Uncle Jack playing the player piano. I thought he was wonderful. I don't know, in retrospect if this all occurred on the same day. Childhood memories are like that for me. Vivid as hell, but kind of dicey on the details.

I miss those days more than I can ever describe. Mainly because they were the time of my life that I felt safest and warmest. And to this day I am so thoroughly grateful to have had them. I will love that feeling forever.

In reference to the aforementioned DRAMA, it wasn't really anything personal. Just more situational than anything else. Someone else's really.

It seems that I have a habit of enraging a certain kind of man. The kind of man who typically likes to maintain some sense of personal gravitas, and doesn't cotton to the kind of outspoken nature that I tend to exhibit naturally. And since we were among family, I pretty much had my guard down and didn't feel the need to be overly political for a change.

So then I pissed the old lion off. And he attacked. But it was more of an invitation for me to debate than anything else in my mind. But the person in the room with the full-blown daddy issues decided that I needed a champion. Needlessly, it turns out, but I think that it made her feel much better.

The funniest thing is that I didn't care. Not really. The whole bloody thing really left me just kind of bored and longing for my own bed and the kitties. Like I said, someone else's drama, not my own. I just didn't have the energy to devote to getting fully engaged. Nor did it seem necessary. I am perfectly content to let someone else make an ass of themselves in public- it happens. So there you have it. DRAMA. And silly as hell.

It has been a while. I needed a break. Mostly from the endless repetition of whatever is going on in my head. And with that accomplished, thanks to a change in scenery, and some remarkable displays of family friction and DRAMA, all is back to a nice, quiet normal.

So today is kind of a day for reflection. Mainly because it is that artificially generated new year eve. I consider most calendar constructs to be artifice- I really don't see much use to them- kind of like the fiction we call money. An agreed upon game of pretend, really. Like religion. But I don't really feel like going there right now. Too fraught. Had enough of that over the break. See DRAMA above.

Mundane things that have an effect: moved the computer that I write on downstairs so that I can be part of the life of the house. Moved my work station upstairs, so that when I work from home, I am more secluded. Shifted all the furniture in the living room around and now have much better flow. I can watch the squirrels in the trees and on the deck eating peanuts while I write. And while I play online.

The foot of snow that we got has pretty much left us. I am guessing that there will be another baby boom in 9 months. Not in our lives, but overall. It was bogged down here badly. The mayor of Seattle had the stupid audacity to give himself and the city's response to the storm a "B" grade. I would contest that. With under 30 snow-plows, Seattle is under equipped for any storm of merit. And for it to take over a week to dig people out is just not a "B" effort. Hell, I understand the dynamics of hills. But seriously, there is really no reason that those plows aren't getting to bare pavement when it's soft snow. I have never seen such feeble snow-removal attempts. It's rather sad, really.

Kman has another week off- he had to take 2 weeks off as the company is having some financial difficulties. The round of layoffs is still fresh, and I'm pretty sure that most of the employees there have morales in the gutter. It's a real shame. But he's cool with staying home. He has been futzing around on the computer, playing in his man cave, and overall shovelling snow.

And I have been trying to come up with some lauditory resolutions. And nothing really stands out. I was already working on stuff that needs to be done, and plan on proceeding in those areas. No, I am not saying that perfection needs no polishing. Far from it. See the artificial construct comment above. I don't see the need to all of a sudden declare new and interesting ways to change my life. I've been doing that for a while. And it appears to be working. So no real necessity for the DRAMA of brand-spanking-new resolutions.

Now I think it is time for more coffee. And maybe a light snack.

Oh, been so quiet here. Not because I lack a lot to say, perish that thought. But mostly because life on the outside got off-the-charts hectic. And it was fun, I must say, for the most part. But soon I will be breathing deeply again, and will have time to account for some of the above. Viva time off!

Started something new today. Not that I am enjoying it. Bloody well hate it. I am getting up an hour early and going to the fucking gym. It's about the only way I can make myself do the right thing, fitness-wise. And this way I have Kman as a coach getting my ass out of bed. But it sucks. And there you have it.

Last night I watched Joe Strummer: The Future is Unwritten. It was interesting as hell. I had tried to read that really, really bad bio about the man that was written recently by some hack who knew him. It was all about the hack, and very little about the man, himself. So I returned it to the library. The documentary, on the other hand, was quite a lot about the man, himself. And despite glossing over his prodigious drug use (by my standards, any wayz), I think it really captured a time and a mentality. Some of which I was very interested in experiencing, as I didn't get it the first time around. Not like a London punk scene didn't hold its charms for a Montana girl from the middle classes, but I sure as hell didn't understand fully the underlying ethos. No fucking way, man. I was too safe. Too secure. And that is not something that lends itself to being part of the scene. So yes, I had some of the clothes, which I intersperced with more moderate rocker wear. But I didn't have the anger at the same things. Mine was more personal. And more internal. Because all teenagers are angry, doncha know. Only some make music happen out of it.

So somewhere along the line there were a few things lost. Not necessarily missed, though. Just lost. In a couple of cases certainly for the better. Like the sense of entitlement. That won't be missed. Nor will the angry uncontained outbursts. The anger still percolates, but there is editing.

What will likely be missed is the sense that anything is possible. That dreams are accessible, and that they will be easy. That is stupid, no doubt. But it does make the attempt that much more rational and desirable. Creators always say that they never would've tried if they had known how bloody difficult it would be. So that kind of ignorance is a good thing within this context.

Also to be missed is the sense of invention. That helped with trying new things. Ah, experience. My friend and foe. My teacher and my enemy. Gotta love that.

Am mostly through Malcolm Gladwell's new book, and am finding myself depressed as hell. Read it and figure out why for yourself. It's all about success. And currently, I am not up to my own standards. It happens, right?

Ah, the weight of years. Heavy, heavy. Ditto the rain and the cloud cover. Connected? Perhaps.

And there it is. Time to step away from the computer and get things done.

On the subject of stars:

Back in the day, again, we had a good friend who designed and built his own observatory in the back yard. It was a 16" telescope, computer driven, in a shed with a retractable roof. He was damned good at spotting with it. Could hone in on a constellation without a chart, just by eyeballing it.

In Bozeman, unlike Seattle, there isn't often fog or clouds in the night sky during the summer. It gets cold as hell, compared to the daytime temps. Huge swings of temperature, when you think about it. From the 90s or even on occasion the low 100s down to the 50s and 40s. Often.

We were in his back yard, with another friend's dad and his 15" telescope. It was one of those clear, crystalline chilly Montana summer nights. And dark out there in the Four Corners neighborhood where he lived. We waited while the guys set up the telescopes, and waited. The dad had his chart. Our friend was swooping between self-named constellations, and showing us cool stuff. Like the "teapot constellation" aka Sagittarius. And the "cheerio galaxy"... um, I got nothing scholarly there to report- only it did look like a cheerio, and was cool.

The dad had some really amazing stuff to show us, and then the whole conversation bogged around telescopes and equipment. Which figures. But was boring. It was late. The beer was gone. I wanted to go home. So we did.

I realized last night that I haven't told a story in a long time. That this has become more of a journal than I had originally intended. So here is a story.

Back in the day, because Once upon a time is a little worn out, we would drive. When it was dark, and we were bored, and it was too hot to sleep, we would drive. The car had broken air conditioning, so the windows would be rolled down.

The city had a roar to it, despite being extremely spread-out. There was a constant roar. Only when we moved away, did I notice it fully. Mainly in its absence. The roar was cars, air conditioners, people, just noise in general. There was a heat too. Cement holds the heat almost better than anything else. And then at night it radiates. We would drive through cool patches, like the zoo area and where Papago golf course is. It smelled green there. Not dry and dusty like the rest of the place. Broken glass glittered in the gutters, and little tufts of dust would shift across the road when a breeze stirred.

The further out towards the suburbs we went, the cooler the air got, as we got beyond the miles and miles of buildings and apartment complexes. We knew where the old orange groves were, and loved to drive by them in the spring when there were blossoms. I'm pretty sure they are what made me sneeze, but they smelled so pretty, and it was cooler there.

We drove by the cotton fields. We drove by the corn. We drove as far as we could, in an attempt to see the desert stars. But the glare of the city lights made this impossible. Until the night we drove north. After about 40 miles, the hills cut the sky off to the south. And we saw the stars.

When I was a child, we went to Phoenix in the summer. I remember driving into the city at night, while lying in the back seat, looking out the back window. And seeing an endless expanse of stars. So very close. So incredibly bright.

When we drove north, we saw this. It is breathtaking, and unexpected. It was also chilly there. We weren't used to normal evening temperatures. And we got cold quickly. But it was worth it, because we now know what it is like to see stars. More stars than anywhere else. More stars than is possible. With a dull orange glow in the southern sky. Where home lay. And the heat. And the dust.

Watched the most AMAZING documentary last night. I cannot recommend it highly enough. It is one of the reasons I love Art History, and History in general. The impact of a few individuals on generations of people....

"The Rape of Europa." All about the impact on art of WWII. Not a cheery tale. But certainly one of hope, and one of remembrance. It was amazing. Just fucking amazing. I think that several people on my Christmas list are going to get a copy. None of them read here, so I'm not ruining any surprises.

But seriously, it was worth watching. The sheer impact of the war, and the catastrophic losses that happened versus the contributions of hundreds are just riveting. Bloody amazing.

And now I have another installment of the documentary PR series on the Queen to watch. I love it mainly because it is cool as hell to see the palaces, etc. in HD, and I think it's really interesting to see the spin on it all. Notice I called it PR? Right. I'm under no illusions that every frame is deliberate and on message.

I just don't understand how people can visit the woman without being drawn to the art on the walls. Just some amazing stuff. Much more interesting than the little lady with the incredible pearls.

On that note, I want a really nice graduated set of pearls now. Nothing on the Queen's scale- those suckers are worth more than the combined value of my family's houses. But something nice and elegant. That I can then wear with my signature v-neck t-shirts and jeans.

News item: Barbara Bush has ulcer surgery. Pity. That's too bad, really- especially around the holidays.

The item that I think is so ironic/funny/etc. or just worth mentioning is that in the MSNBC article (look it up yourselves, I am too lazy to link), they call her a "sunny" presence. WTF?! Barbara Bush is about as fucking "sunny" as a sulfuric acid laced Bloody Mary. I think that she is one of the scariest women ever to inhabit the White House. She produced two presidents, and basically was the force to be reckoned with in the family. Nothing "sunny" about that. I think she has more in common with Rose Kennedy than anyone else, and I have never heard old Rose called "sunny."

Makes me wonder about the age of the person who wrote the article. It would make sense if he/she hadn't been around during the first Bush presidency. Then they have a good reason to be ignorant.

Fucking "sunny"??? Sweet Jesus.

The other night we had dinner with old friends. We have a history with these folks. They have been good to us, and they have inadvertently been bad to us.

And now it starts again. Seems one extended an offer to Kman to be partners in business. That is fine in theory, but then the nightmares started for me. Quite literally, and I can't completely blame the Thai food. More like my subconscious telling me that this is an extremely bad idea. At least at face value.

Many questions need answers. Many decisions must be made. The irony is that we are now at the point in our life where finances aren't a tremendous struggle. And we can breathe. I don't see any sense in returning to another reality that way. Just none. But I have to fight to be open to alternatives if they are ... reasonable. And not let my nightmares get in the way of Kman's dreams, if that is the inclination. Just have to keep the level head and make sure some safety nets are intact.

But that is all ahead of myself. Nothing has been determined. Nothing has been offered. Right now it is just dinner talk. Perhaps I'll get lucky and that is where it will stay.

It was a very nasty dream, by the way. With very, very clear messages that even a neophyte dream analyzer could parse out.

so the plan is to confront the demons before they hatch any more nefarious plots.

I love the word nefarious. It reminds me of 19th Century serial novels. The kind that
people waited years to finish. They stood by the banks of the rivers waiting for the packet
boats to deliver the mail, hoping that the next issue of the paper with the next chapter
would arrive today.

Nefarious plots. Right. Part of my general persecution mania. Didn't know I had that? Well,
you haven't been paying attention, have you. There's the persecution problem. There's also
the general feeling of unease. It happens. And I have learned to place it under protective custody
and ignore it. My own personal Guantanamo, if you will. Only with candy. Because that would
be inhumane. Denying anyone candy.

Seriously, it all is just fine. And will be fine. Mainly because big perspective says that this too
will pass, and I will likely not remember any of it in 5 years. Or sooner if there is a head
injury involved. Not that we're hoping for that. No, we are not.

Again with the cycles of anxiety. Coming off of people around me in waves.

Or more like a mist. Like that old Stephen King story.

The one that scared the hell out of me when I was young.

The one that was made into a regrettable movie that I never say.

Which is ok, really. Because it would've likely made me anxious.

Something that is unnecessary, as I am already anxious.

Because it is in the air. Like Spring. Only not like Spring.

Or love. Only not like love.

More like some kind of infection. Like a virus. Only we don't use that

word at work. It makes people nervous. Or anxious.

Been blurring the margins a bit lately. Between here and places where I have outed myself officially, and likely forever, it gets confusing. Included in the outing are people I haven't spoken with in over 20 years. That's not to say that I hate them, or anything like that. More of a disinclination to open that can o' worms. And deal with what crawls out. Like the past. Like the ghost of me past. Oh my, yes.

And this place gets to become the fortress of solitude in a way. My secret haven of gloom, doom, turbulence and strife. Or whatever. Aren't you lucky?

I suspect not so much. But then, neither am I. Not really. Never could rely on luck. Too abysmally unreliable. Good in a pinch some times.

So there it is. And there I am. Out in the open, exposed to the light. Shining on.

He thinks I'm kidding....yeah, right

Today Kman went to the store. He was looking for work pants. Specifically, Dickies. Because I told him to quit ruining his good jeans. So he looked. And then decided that Dickies fit like shit, and wouldn't work. So the salesman recommended Carhartts. And he was sold. He now owns a pair of fresh, crisp and black Carhartts. He can safely visit Montana and look like a man. Look like a city man, what with the black and all- not beige enough to fit in squarely in hometown. But otherwise, he can look like a city-folk native.

But the best part, the part that I save for last is that what he really wanted to buy was a pair of bib overalls. Oh yes, my friends. My husband decided that those were the finest pair of pants that he had ever worn. There is nothing to bind, and a handy place to put tools. Ah yes, he has truly given up. Truly and forever. I told him that bib overalls were for fat chicks back home when they couldn't close the waistbands on their pants any more. This can of course be handy if one is pregnant. But I saw it often in college. With the girls who ordered pizza a few too many times. Sweats or bibs. Lovely look, really, when combined with a frizzy permed pony tail and a loosely-fitting t shirt. Ah, good times.

So he has a goal. Bib overalls, or bust. I did suggest that he go for the ones with the little stripes, so he can play train conductor. Not just farmer. Or stoner- those little pockets are handy for all kinds of supplies, no?

Watched a documentary on Jonestown last night. Disturbing as hell. And not just because of the dead bodies lying bloated in the fields. They did a good job of rolling out the facts in a progression that was more of a death march than anything else. The survivors were the surprise. The events were known. The psychology was hinted at, but it would've been good to hear a bit more about that. I suppose, though, that the survivors who participated wouldn't have appreciated a more in-depth psychological profile. Since they would be the topic and all.

Also I noticed that they barely glossed over the sex abuse allegations. Interesting, since that is where journalists seem to focus nowdays. And all that.

Not recommeded prior to going to bed, though. Leads to interesting REM activity.

I did the sickest thing imaginable last night. I started up in Facebook. For a few reasons, but suffice it to say, I am not overly comfortable with the whole thing. I just have a horrible tendency to get overly involved in those kinds of things. Luckily Myspace is a crappy enough interface that I don't deal with it that often- mostly for info on band ticket pre-sales and book signings. But otherwise I ignore it.

But this Facebook thing is something else. And it is crossing a few lines- between work and life- that I am not all that happy about. But I am doing it. Because I think that the reticence that I have towards letting co-workers into my life might be a tad...unnecessary.

I have also been hitting Linked in pretty heavily too. Just because it is more of a tool towards work stuff, I am more ok with it. It has to be a boundary issue. Something about carving out my place, and not wanting to share. I'm not sure about it all, and don't feel like diving deeply into that spot in my psyche in a public forum. But it is about privacy, keeping my self apart and being safe here. But that isn't always the answer. And therefore Facebook. But my overwhelming feeling, besides delight at seeing some old friends, is kind of ick. Not feeling the joy of being out there in the world. Not feeling that at all.

This forum will likely remain as anonymous as I can keep it. Just saying.

News roundup:

They handed down the layoffs at Kman's work yesterday. He was spared. A couple of our friends were not. About a third of the company was sacked. It was sad. He is working on his resume.

I spent the last two days in an intensive training workshop. I learned a couple of very annoying communication habits that I have. These are good to know. Now if I can just remember them when it counts.

We have a neutered male cat that thinks it is fun to red rocket one of the other male neutered cats. This is disturbing. But probably not worth fussing over, as they are cats.

We have an outburst of raccoons in our yard. It doesn't help that on election night, when we were well in our cups, Kman decided it would be a good idea to feed them bread. It was cute. And now they have moved in, with their kids, extended family and trailers.

And hey, guess what! It's raining!

Ok, so maybe the bottle of champagne on top of the large bottle of beer was overkill on a Tuesday night. But it was worth it. And it was deserved. Because we hadn't celebrated like that since oh....1996 or thereabouts. And it was the same. A bottle of champagne. Because it was important. And it was finally happening.

So perhaps I am feeling a little feeble this morning. I am ok with that. Because I feel like something important happened last night. When I was little, I saw people rioting on tv. I saw soldiers dying on tv. I saw a president discraced on tv. I saw too much to really comprehend, but now that I am an adult, I know what I saw. And I know what I hate about what I saw. And I see how very far we have come.

Earlier in the campaign, I heard a woman on tv talking about how much the new president "scared her". And I thought, "good." You ought to be scared. Because you are also being challenged. Face the fear, and determine whether or not it is a good fear. Determine whether or not it is a fear based on logic and actual self-preservation, or if instead it is a fear based on what you are being told. If the latter is true, then you are pitiful and need to man up. If the former is true, then there are one hell of a lot of very deluded people in this country right now. I am falling towards the latter in a big way. Some how I doubt our new president is a bear. Or a snake. Or a poisonous spider. I don't think he is a tornado, a hurricane or a killing ice-storm. So nothing to fear there, folks. Embrace change, because the stalemate that we have been enduring hasn't exactly brought prosperity and joy to the country. It's like that, you know. Study history, and you will see what I mean. Patterns and their recognition. Rises and falls.

But the important thing is to shake it up from time to time. That is very, very important.

And now I must pop an asperin, and go to work. And try not to gloat- that is not being a good winner. And the other side went down with dignity- we raised our glasses in honor of a very good concession speech. If he had used that voice throughout the campaign, we might've seen a different outcome. I'm just sayin.

Oh, he was an angry child. Just like that. And it didn't go away. It wasn't that he was unloved, far from it. There was something deeper. Something more reliable. But otherwise hard to fathom. And it caused him endless difficulties. Because even though he seemed funny and kind and easy to be around, over time if someone got too close, they encountered the anger. It was a wall. And his fortress of solitude. But he was no superman, and being rejected made him more angry. It was always perplexing. And never resolved. The end.

So it's all about getting back in the habits again. They were good habits, too. Like going to the gym daily. And writing daily- both here and elsewhere. And eating the right things. Though that one slid on occasion. Usually only once a week, though.

And where are we now? Not where we were. Not in a bad place, exactly- more of a holding pattern than anything else. But holding patterns are not momentum, and they are exhausting to maintain. So it's forward. That's what we're after. Forward. Into the void. Why the hell not? At least I haven't been there before. It's always a new void on a new day. Gotta be full of surprises, no? They might be subtle- like the pattern of black birds flying across the dusky sky, or the smell of damp chilly morning.

But those surprises are interesting. And often good. I'll take it. With interest.

Now THIS is good news.

From MSNBC this morning:

"It was nice and crisp gettin' off the airplane ... it reminded me a lot of Alaska, so I put my warm jacket on. And it is my own jacket," Palin said at a rally at Sioux City West High School. "It doesn't belong to anybody else."

Palin's quip came amid growing questions about her campaign and tensions among the traveling staff. The Politico reported Saturday that Palin had lost confidence in some of her senior aides and begun relying more on her own instincts.

The good news- she's relying on her instincts. I like that. Because I believe that those same instincts got her into a little trouble back in the day when she decided to act all vengeful on her ex-brother-in-law, et. al. I think her instincts aren't horribly refined, and appear a tad ham-fisted. This is very good news, indeed.

And that's probably the only political commentary I will make this election. I've been trying to stay the hell out of it. But I will make this categorical statement. I have never, nor will I ever vote for a crooked Arizona politician. That was a decision made many years ago when I lived there. And nothing has changed on that front.

If you want facts, here is a link, and an idea of where I get mine from:

http://www.phoenixnewtimes.com/1994-09-08/news/opiate-for-the-mrs/

To the vast aggravation of it all, yesterday my mentor took a good look at my resume for the first time. She is helping me revise. And she said, "just in looking at it, it's obvious that you are in the wrong job." Thank you. Thanks so very much. And I really do mean that with some sincerity. Because I was beginning to wonder.

Not that comfort isn't good- it's just deadly in my world. I am surrounded by people who do what I do, and have forever, and so on, the end. And they drive me batshit. They are often bitter. They are often chock full o' noblesse oblige. By proxy, doncha know. And I can see the appeal. It hits me sometimes.

But I know better. I know that more than one more year of this gig, and it will be very bad. Very bad, indeed. A bored me is a very unhappy me. And this has all the hallmarks of being that avenue.

So, there are job rumblings that I have to deal with, for sanity's sake. But not today. Not tomorrow. In the future, but that will rush up on me without fail. No pressure, though. No pressure.

Lately it has been that holding pattern kind of thing. Just a feeling like I'm living an intermission, rather than a real life. I think it is just the aftermath of weeks of frantic activity, and showing a calm game face, despite what is going on inside. I suspect this is so. All the adrenaline is leaving the body in a burst, and I'm left without much energy for anything at the moment. Or it's the change of seasons. Or it's the new windows and the enhanced warmth and quiet. Or it's the cat. Or it's just me.

But there you have it. Mornings this week have been tough. Tougher than usual. I have never been one to spring from bed, full of energy and life. It has always been a struggle. I emerge slowly. And with reluctance. And this week has been exceptionally hard. So there it is.

The nice thing is that bossman is traveling, and there is flexibility. I can come home and work remotely if I play my cards right. Then it's all about the comfort. Throw on the jammies, turn on the tv, and monitor my email for crises. All is well. But I still have to get up in the morning. And eventually I have to stop whining about it. Because that is boring, too.

Power jockeying

So one of the things that happened this week basically confirmed a suspicion that I had. Basically I am on the leadership team for a group at my company. There by default, because I happen to be a direct report of my manager. Not because I am supposed to actually do anything special. Just because it would be needlessly rude to exclude me from the room.

Or at least that is the assumption. I do have my allies. One of them in particular has been very vocal in private with coaching me as to the prerogatives of being in the room. As well as taking the assumption that I belong there to heart.

So there was a sudden meeting yesterday. And there was an accompanying email that I was left off of. Because I was asked to call the meeting, I was also on the invitation. When I walked in the room, the bossman registered surprise, and didn't say anything. I acted like I belonged there. And the meeting progressed.

Afterwards I asked him to forward me the email. He acted shocked, but complied as he rushed to his next meeting.

I thanked him for sending it, and made sure to tell him that if he expects me to remain "on message" with the team at large (and god knows I have more visibility there than he does), I need to be in the loop. And that it is perfectly safe to trust me with this kind of thing- in fact safer if I know about it, and can not fuck things up inadvertently due to ignorance. Of course I said all of this in as diplomatic and nice a way as possible. Hopefully hiding my irritation. Because this is the kind of shit that I hate having to fight for. Total bullshit. The assumption appears to be that I can operate just fine in ignorance, and any problems that arise therein are mine to handle. I officially called shenanigans on that yesterday. We'll see if it has the desired effect.

And that was that. What my week was composed of, in a nutshell. Political jockeying. And the hope that there will be a resultant increase in information. And no, I don't take it personally, just realize that it's lower on the priority list for him, and just doesn't come naturally to his mind. I'll fix that. I have confidence. And the might of being right! Bwahahaha....

Seriously, I sometimes think that they just don't know what to think about me. And I like keeping them a little off-center that way- it is kind of fun. Shhhhhhh......

Housekeeping

We had new windows installed in La Casa. So the computer that I write on was shifted to the side of the room and turned off- since normally it sits looking out the window at the Cascades (on a clear day). Besides which, I also had another abnormally busy work week.

It appears, however, that the frenzy is coming to a close. I will have my life back to normal again. I don't quite know whether to be pleased or saddened by this. Operating on adrenaline is definitely intoxicating. But it is also exhausting. I can use both hands and count how many days in the last 2 weeks I was in bed by 8:00. Not much of a life on the side, I suspect.

So that is happening.

Other events- well nothing that I can report in an open forum. And nothing worth worrying about, either. The man himself is currently on a hike with a friend- I was invited, but laughed in his face when he said they were meeting at 7:00 AM on a SATURDAY. Fuck that noise. Not in a mean way, but really. He does know me better than that. But I do appreciate the offer.

So it's sleep in Saturday with coffee, fleece jammies, kitties, and the computer. Ah, so very cozy. And it's sunny outside. Which makes for more happiness. And we have sparkly clean windows.

It's been one of those weeks again. Was online working at 6:00 AM yesterday, because it appeared necessary. Now whether or not it actually was is another discussion entirely. Because of lack of coordination on the other end, turns out, not so much. But I was still there. And gone from the office early too. So there.

Now if I could just figure out where I hid a necklace when I went on vacation. It totally pisses me off. I was being clever. And now, since it's 3 months later, and I am finally remembering that I want to wear it, I can't figure out where the fuck I put it. Ye gads, I am an idiot. And here is your bona fide proof.

Nothing else to report here, on this end of things. Just wrapping up stuff and nonsense and trying to figure out what the hell I want to do when I grow up. Which appears to be now. Great. Thought I would have more time. But I am beginning to think that this is not the case. Maybe it's because I am around grownups all bloody day. And they take themselves and their lives very, very seriously.

So once again I point out, we live in interesting times. Like you haven't noticed. Well, if you get your news from Fox TV, like some of my more reactionary relatives, you are full of fear and angst. These are the same sillypants people who continue to send me anti-Obama spam, insisting that because it came across the interwebs, it HAS to be true. Ok, same person. Only one. And I love that person. But still, this is just silly.

And then there's the finances. The lovely thing, I got a pretty nice stock award with my annual review. And now? Well, it's not nearly as nice, as the company's stock has fallen. Substantially. Crap. I have to keep remembering, that it's a long-term thing. Not a short-term thing. And that otherwise, we are really doing well financially. For once. We appear to have finally gotten over the Montana tax- where you make about half of what the rest of the world makes, doing more work, and are expected to be grateful for a) having a job in the first place, and b) the fact that it is Montana. As if the scenery pays the fucking student loan. What a load of horseshit. If anyone doubted why we left, please re-read the above.

So then there is the rest of my interesting personal life. Actually vicarious interesting, as my own life is pretty sedate, and just fine. Wish it was the same for others. And that there were more concrete things I could do to assist. But there you have it. Geography, and the knowledge that it's just not my place.

Yes, interesting. And if I take a broad overview of it, there are some factors that seem just right about the whole thing. For example, despite how much it hurts right now, and despite the fact that it scares the hell out of significant people in my life, I can't help but be glad that the financial shenanegans of those asshats on Wall Street are being ferretted out and shut down. I have been paranoid about that whole thing for a long time. I had a job once upon a time in banking, and learned a lot about how shady and really scary that line of work is. All theory, no actual substance. And we all should know how the Emperor's new clothes turn out.

And the election. It will end some day. I don't quite understand the undecidedes. They worry me. I wonder how they make their everyday decisions. I wonder if they are undecided about many things. I would actually love to sit down and discuss this very thing with someone in that camp- not to harangue them into my way of thinking, but to understand how you get this far and still can't make up your mind. I don't understand. But I would actually like to. The good news, though, is that it will end soon. Very soon.

Beg week on our NPR station will end soon. Very soon.

I am just waiting for things to sort themselves out again, and it will return to some semblance of normality. Of this I am confident. For today.

Well, now that I have had the cat in my lap making biscuits, we are ready to start the day. It's a ritual. I drink my coffee, read websites, and he is there being happy. For him. He is an odd one. But then that goes with the definition of being a cat.

Weekend was full of sleep, reading teenage vampire books (from the library, I refuse to spend money on them), and going to the Sigur Ros concert last night. Even better seats than before. Had a couple of 21 year olds in flouncy dresses behind us. Annoyingly young. Stupid loud commentary, trying to be erudite. Only without the word erudite. Because they are unlikely to know that one. Luckily they settled down after making a couple of phone calls and were good little girls. The boys next to them were not good little anything. They kept talking in thier outdoor voices, and then got very quiet. I smelled a tuna fish sandwich. Kman smelled schnapps. One of the boys had vomited on the floor near our seat. On the little girl's umbrella, it turns out. Leave it, flouncy girl. Not worth the fuss. There will be many other umbrellas in your future.

The show was lovely. Again. Only different, as they have left the girl band animaa behind in Iceland (from the Myspace page, I suspect one of those girls is very pregnant, and no doubt wouldn't tour in that condition). So it was a pared-down version of 4 who performed. It's hard not to rave. It's hard not to order everyone out to watch. But I won't because I do recognize that they are an acquired taste.

Otherwise all is well. Going to the office. Gonna get lots done. In theory. In theory.

Another day in chaos, even if it is partially self-inflicted. Mainly because I can't just see a void. I have to step into it. And try and make the bloody thing better.

Some random thoughts appear whilst drinking some fine single malt. Not the best of the bunch, but a lovely bright distillation. It works.

I wonder if I am the only one who remembers that he chewed his nails down to nubs, and they were always rough and raw looking. When I would ask him to scratch my back, because I loved that as a child, he wouldn't be able to do more than rub. No scratching. Ever. Especially now.

I wonder if I am the only one who thought that he sang Paul McCartney's song "Silly Love Songs." Not sure about that one. I was pretty little. That's the only excuse I can come up with.

I wonder if I am the only one who thought that he was George Carlin on the records that he played in the basement. Because for some reason their voices were the same to me.

No, to the first. Certainly yes to the other ones.

Nothing other than that worth recording. And I would argue that this was nothing worth recording, either. Only feeling self-indulgent. Blame the scotch. Or the moon. Or whatever deity you choose to follow. Myself, well I have been trying to convince myself that choosing one of the old ones might be a pleasant diversion. Mithras comes to mind. Only I am not a warrior. But still, it would be entertaining to take days off to celebrate Mithrian holidays- and come back with a bit of beef blood on my forehead to commemorate the sacrifice. It would be odd enough to win me enemies, but interesting enough to win me friends. In some segments, that is.

Only I am never that daring any more. Once upon a time, it might've happened. But then I grew up and became much more afraid. Mainly because I learned about consequences. And about living without the perpetual safety net. I'm sure it's still there in places, but I don't want to test it. I don't want to be on the ropes. I guess at this point I am rather content to have a secret life of the mind, and leave the rest to being somewhat ordinary.

Only I do wear the black stone necklace when I want to pretend that I'm a witch, and am embracing the darkness. I really do. And it helps a bit. The pretend, not the necklace. I do know the difference so far between pretend and real. More scotch, and that might change.

So the trick is to keep the game face on. All the fucking time. And yes, there is strain. That's what getting coffee and restroom breaks are all about. Walking away for a few quick minutes here and there.

But the game face. It's all about calm in the face of Clear and Present Danger (thanks, Tom). Keeping them from seeing panic that they feel and want to share. Keeping them from feeling like they will have to deal with another problem. Keeping them grounded. Making them laugh here and there. Because otherwise the stress level will become even more toxic. Ah yes. The toxic. And that's the week. Keeping it from killing anyone.

Walks at night after work with Kman help. But that is about all there is to offer, besides drinking ones-self into a stupor. Which, given the rigors of the following day isn't very appealing. Ah, but it is. But it really isn't.

And the game face. Keeping it from cracking off, chipping like paint. Exposed to the elements. And the salt. And the cold. Keeping it intact. Keeping it fresh, even.

The good news? Next week the boss is travelling. And there isn't much for me to worry about then. Because once in play, he is in play and the game rolls on without me.

This weekend has been spent primarily hunkering down in expectation of absolute chaos next week. The boss is back, and there are critical things that happen on Wednesday- career making kinds of things. For him. And there will be stress, ah yes. In my world, indeed. So I planned ahead and slept a lot. And took care of things that will get neglected during the week. It's all good, just expecting a shit-ton of stress and angst. But that is the joy of having a job, no? As long as they're not too horribly cranky, I can deal. And if they are, I go to the new Top Pot donuts nearby and buy them treats to shut them up. Or cry. Because that usually stops men in their tracks and flips the remorseful switch full on.

But I wouldn't do that. No, that is the heavy ammo to be reserved for another day.

All I can really say this morning is that I am glad as hell I didn't get the job at Washington Mutual. I interviewed there several times, and am highly relieved.

Scary fucking stuff. I just hope that calmer heads in congress will prevail and they will hold off on spending all our blasted money in saving structures that ought to be looked at closely before determining if they actually need the assistance. Or if this is a Henny Penny maneuver. Oh, yes. The sky is falling. It happens. If you are a silly chicken, and if this is a children's story. I wouldn't share this story with a child though. It's boring and scary at the same time. But the boring prevails.

On the happier side, the stock at work went up this last week, and I got my first award a month ago. It's nice to see something resembling stability in my life. At least financially. The rest is pretty good, but that helps.

Gotta go to work in a bit- so will sign off. I'm hoping to have time to actually put some writing on the page this weekend. It is possible. And likely. Hold tight, I'll be back soon.

I've started and discarded two posts already this morning. I am worried that the day might follow along like that- fits and starts. But there you have it. Nothing new to really report. Nothing at least that I want to say out loud. In public.

Oh, the angst in the household right now....

We put those claw dealies on Buddy's claws this weekend. He is a very bad boy, who loves to scratch the shit out of the furniture. Not that we have nice furniture to ruin, but it gets on the nerves. And one of the amps is totally denuded on the side, and will need to be repaired. So we glued the plastic covers on his claws. He was very good. And now he is disturbed. Doesn't know what to do with himself.

Very odd to see his kind of perplexed and nonplussed little self. Don't like it much, but prefer training him this way to declawing him. Would hate to do that. Would really hate it.

Bad Buddy.

Now there's a break in the rain. It's good. Because after a perfectly dreary Saturday (CATURDAY!!!) it'll be nice to emerge into something not wet. Damp, perhaps. But wet is not ideal.

I don't intend to spend enormous amounts of time writing about the weather. It just takes over sometimes. Back in the day it was the snow. That would take over. We were prisoners of the winter, and had to deal. It happens here, but not as often. It's more dramatic here, as people stop driving and trees fall over.

So on the docket for today, the amazing and fun job of cleaning the house and finishing my big project of the weekend- the one that had me all pissy and annoyed yesterday. I am going through boxes of papers. And shredding tons of things and just throwing plenty of stuff away. I hate carting things around, and have a very bad habit of hoarding paperwork. I think it is genetic. Ask my father. He has a professional reason for it. But I would say in this instance it imprinted.

Makes me grumpy as hell to go traipsing through the past like that. I see where I spent time that wasn't justified. I see where I spent energy that wasn't clarified. It was not all fun. So then after getting well out of sorts, we had dinner with friends, and I abandoned the project for the day. It helped.

And now to get rolling- there is very little left.

Ah, Jack, you let me down last night.

First off, I don't blame you for the crappy acoustics-playing in the WAMU theater is like playing in an airplane hanger. That can't be helped, I suppose. Ditto the really stupid seating. It was hard to connect with the folks in the seats when they are half a mile away and separated from the band by a sea of people. Don't know how the sound folks could possibly counteract the crappy venue. Bummer that.

But the opening band? The Kills? Really? They were considered good enough? Really? From what I saw, they basically pranced around on stage posing rather than actually playing music. And the endless repetition and drone of the alleged lyrics...really? I am perplexed. Quite perplexed. Won't be going out and buying their music soon. Or ever, really.

And after all that, I do appreciate that your band was prompt. But the 45 minute set followed by the 5 minute powder, and the very short 15 minute reprise was shockingly abrupt. I was NOT feeling the love. In fact, what I witnessed was in no way a joyous reunion of the first Raconteurs concert that I was at a little over a year ago. That one was great. Lots of love from the stage. I attended it despite having thrown out my back an hour before. No pain meds, and extreme discomfort, and I still got it that you guys were having fun on stage playing songs. This time, no back pain, no meds, and I got it that you took over the band at some point and decided to run the entire show. Brandon was relegated to back up player. Not too cool, if'n you ask me. And I would love to give you the benefit of the doubt and think that perhaps he was off his game with a stomach bug, and you were generously taking the show and making it happen. But this isn't very likely now, is it.

And the brevity. That is where I feel ripped off. The brevity. What the fuck was up with that? You now have 2 albums worth of material that you can cover, and you still couldn't muster up a playlist that would go longer than an hour? WTF. Rip off.

Yes, I am cranky about it. Mainly because I have been a huge Jack fan for a while now, despite criticisms from friends and family- people who just don't get it, and accuse me of falling for hype. Now I am beginning to wonder. Perhaps there isn't room on a stage for Jack and his ego and the rest of a band. I don't know. I am not feeling very charitable at the moment. Just pissed off that I hauled myself across Lake Washington after a brutal fucking work week, and sat through a shitty opening band, to be treated to an hour of not horribly inspired music. Highlight- the re-working of "Steady, as She Goes". The low point- not playing "The Switch and the Spur."

I hold you Jack, to a higher standard than last night. I think that you are capable of much more as an entertainer- I have witnessed it through extreme pain and discomfort (when I said thrown back, I wasn't kidding- full on slipped disc, with a good 4 months of repair work to get it back to somewhat normal). I am hoping that someway, somehow, someone who you trust and like can talk some sense into you and bring you back to the place you should be- performing for the folks who love you, and sharing the stage with the band to which you belong. Otherwise, it all becomes the Jack White show, and that is not what I paid to see last night- and it does a disservice to the other boys in the band.

Now I shall finish, and go drink a little more coffee and try not to be cranky any more.

Nothing alarming today. Nothing really frightful woke me up on NPR. Just the usual crap- politics, economics, and surprisingly not religion. The third item on the list has been markedly silent lately.

On my trip, I read Fool on the Hill, by Matt Ruff. It was lovely. It helped the airport experience enormously. I'm reading his Sewer, Gas and Electric now. Not as quick a go at it, but it doesn't help that work has been brutal this week, and I am insisting on Kman going walking in the evenings with me so far this week. That way I can avoid the dreaded gym, get some exercise, spend quality time with the boy, and basically feel smug about my fitness levels. He is complaining a touch about not having enough tv time in the evenings, but I tell him, "Man up, Mary- are those your balls in your purse?" And he laughs. And plots kicking me out of the house with the cats- who really are great little coup planners. Actually they wouldn't really give a rat's ass who lives here, as long as they get enough food (by their definitions, which vary) and plenty of attention when they require it. It's like being coopted by a band of Banana Dictators. Only they are small enough to pick up and toss on the bed. And they poop in a box. Which might be said of the aforementioned dictators, only I am not privy to that information (did you see what I did there? Where is my "ba dum bum"?).

Ok, gotta go to work. It's promising to be another brutal one. But these are actually kind of fun. Like juggling monkeys. And hoping none of the monkeys have a really evil blood-borne pathogen that will cause my innards to seep through my skin.

Ok, I am going to break form and actually say something important.

If by chance you wander here and have small children who play soccer in the back yard, please, please read the following article and act if it applies to you:

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=94641865

I heard it on the radio this morning whilst trying to get out of bed. Scary shit, people.

Gotta say I appreciated the weekend away from most everything work. Was still processing things that happened, were said and were done. But that's probably to be expected. Poor Kman had to listen to my musings, but that's also probably to be expected. He gets beer out of the equation, and cup cakes.

Kman wrecked his bike at the track day. He is fine- just low sided. The bike not so much. Not sure what he will do with her. She requires a lot of reconstruction- it wasn't the new one though. But he might just part her out. He spent very little on her originally, so it's not a huge issue, just kind of sad. He messed up his hand a bit, but otherwise only has a large bruise and a sore elbow. I am really glad that he has always purchased the best safety gear available. And it appears to work. Had a debate with my mother yesterday about the relative safety of the track days. I said that I prefer him on a track to daily commuting (which he also does), mainly because it is a known course, with limited people on it, and they know what they're doing, and there is an ambulance available at all times. Versus his commute, where people are idiots, it is slower, but there are lumbering cars around, and they make very bad stopping points. She didn't agree, but that's not a problem, really. He'll go out and run again next season. After he decides the fate of the bike.

Nothing else, have a very busy day planned, so gotta run.

Ah yes I am back. From the work week. It was a marathon. It was also fun. I didn't do anything that would get me fired. I didn't have time. The inclination? Well, that is another story entirely. But no time makes it hard to get creative with misbehavior.

And did it go well? Yes. I think so. It was good to meet people in person with whom I have an extensive email life. It was good to hear the B52's live- and dance 5 feet from the stage. Yes, Fred Schneider, we noticed how stoned you were, but were in awe anyway. And yes, Kate- that sparkly dress was amazing. If I could wear one to work, I would be happy. But I doubt I could pull it off. The consensus was that they have cooler jobs than any of us. Period.

It was good to hear Steve Young speak about team work and football- not that it was profound or anything, but it was surprisingly eloquent, and got a lot of people happy. I would've preferred Terry Bradshaw, but there you go.

It was good to get home, more than anything else. I am sick to absolute death of thinking about work, talking about work, talking to others from work, and basically need time away from that world to become myself again. I was "on" for a fucking week, and am so drained in spirit as to be almost catatonic. Maybe not that bad, but it's still not a pretty sight.

I sent Kman out into the world for the day- he is having another track day. I needed time by myself. And wouldn't really be good company right now. Not that I hate people, just have had enough of them for a while. And the kitties are needy- it's really odd- they are following me around the house screaming at me. Then they fall down and need their bellies rubbed. I think it's love. Or they are just broken. But I want to think it's love.

And on that note, I will ring off for now. I would like to go and do something quiet and contemplative, but will most likely take a nap.

So here's the thing. I have to go on a week-long business trip. I have never logged into this site via my work computer before. Ever. Have kept a strict division of labor, so to speak. And don't know if it is wise to muddy the waters. I haven't thought that it was smart to blog via work machine- mainly because I know damned good and well that it is monitored. Not proscribed, but monitored. If I were to ever be involved in some kind of court case, all of the history of the machine would be court documents, etc. blah fucking blah.

Big reasons why I keep the division going. So now, I am contemplating breaking the third wall while I am gone. Because a week seems like a very long time to be silent. Since I have been a pretty good little blogger lately. And all that. I also expect to be horribly busy, but bored at the same time. And I fully expect to need down time and my own voice. It's just blasted hard to be in professional form for that long. The strain gets to me a bit. Having to tamp down my sense of humor to manageable levels and to not expose them to the kinds of ridicule that I am capable of. Oh, it's so difficult at times. At the last offsite 2 weeks ago, I said "Oh, for fuck's sake." about something. And totally shocked a co-worker. He laughed his ass off, but I kind of got the impression it was like having your first grade teacher say the word "ass."

So I will embrace as much sobriety as I can handle, and might not be hereabouts for a while. Feh.

As seen in real life today:

1. A large rampaging herd of purple-clad people shuffling towards the U of W football stadium. While it looked like a convention of "special" folks in their favorite purple shirts (seriously here- purple is totally the tard color- check out the special olympics some time- I know whereof I speak, it's my "special" sister's favorite color too) I think there was a game. They were by and large a grumpy looking lot.

2. A very nice homeless man who didn't actually panhandle my ass, just smiled at me and told me to have a good day- outside the U of W bookstore (manna from heaven in the remainder stacks there today, believe me).

3. The prettiest calico kitteh at the petstore. Crude comment du jour- I wonder how many blow jobs it would take to convince Kman that a 4th cat is necessary? I am thinking more than I can deliver. Feh. But she was really, really pretty.

4. The laundrymat next to our favorite Starbucks (yes, we have a favorite Starbucks- so sue us) was apparently broken this morning. There was a shrill, piercing claxon coming from inside, as a very annoyed looking old lady left with a big jug of bleach. It didn't stop while we waited in line. If finally stopped when we got our coffee. And then started up again. We passed the annoyed old lady in the parking lot, as she shuffled to the laundrymat with a look of resignation on her face, and without the jug of bleach.

5. Again, I hate politicians and everything political right now merely on principle. Had a discussion about the sins of Cindy McCain this morning with my mother. Seems that the drug abuse/prescription pill theft/whistleblower firing/charity abandonment thing has gone away. Enough money will do that. I just remember the Phoenix New Times doing a big story of that whole mess back in the day. And it hardened me to her for life. Just because. Hypocrisy has that effect on me. Oh, and John McCain appears to be a horse's ass. Just noticed that when I lived in Arizona for 6 hellish years. Not that the others aren't bad. I'm pretty sure they are equally as excorable. But it's all about the devil you know, right?

6. I guess changing a windshield is hard. I've been to the store and back and Kman and his sidekick today Aki are still at it. I am not helping . I am sitting at the computer and making fun of them. It's much more entertaining, believe me. I would just whine if I was involved. And get pissy and bored. That's how I roll.