Getting the blockage out...

There are times when a girl just has to get her head out of her ass, and get stuff done. Been overwhelmed by ennui lately, and need to overcome.

First step, give the relatives my fucking new address. I have been a very bad girl. Only one person outside of the group who helped us move knows where the hell I live. And my mother is getting sadder by the day. Girls who make their mothers sad are destined to go to hell. It's in writing somewhere, and no doubt I signed the contract.

Second step, get coffee to kill the nasty headache I woke up with- slept in too late and didn't dose at the proper time. It hurts. It will go away, though.

Third step, unpack some more shit. Sort and throw away at least a third of it. Because there is only so much crap that needs to be carried around from house to house across the blasted country. I am finding cleaning supplies from our apartment in Tempe, for Christ's sake! That was 9 years ago. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Fourth step, give Kboy a haircut. He looks like a beatnik. He calls it the preliminary BeeGee stage. If his hair gets any longer, it gets puffy and very wavy. Looks kind of girly. He hates it. I think it's cute as hell, but get vetoed every time. Doesn't help that we're exactly the same height, etc. and get mistaken for lesbians from a distance when he gets shaggy hair. It has happened more than once. Probably inflicts more damage on the boy than he cares to admit.

Fifth step, continue to finish the stack of half-read books that I found in a box. There were exactly five of them, making this the appropriate step. I finished one yesterday. Am diligently working on another. Not that I didn't enjoy them. They just got replaced by something more pressing at the time- usually from the library, with a deadline attached. Now I need to finish and move on.

Sixth step, get more coffee...All right, that's much better.

Seventh step- start killing off the list of crap that needs to be done around the house. I emailed it to myself last week. Because it was bugging me and I could forget about it once I mailed it off. Now to dig it out and do something.

I don't feel like overloading the circuitry (like the computer talk???) and listing any more things. This is sufficient.

Going to go finish my coffee and then cut some hair. And call the relatives and give them address aplenty.

Some maintenance required

So I have just been worn out. More than the usual I am tired because work is draining kind of worn out. More like sustaining the whole illusion is getting to me.

About the illusion. Seems that people who don't come here and connect the dots think I'm about the most positive and calm person in existence. Seems that someone at work said she is amazed at how very calm I always remain. Seems that I keep the rage and everything else buried pretty well, then. Because it's bullshit. Smoke and mirrors.

This is a place where I whine almost constantly. Because it has to happen somewhere. But seriously, there is more. Much more that I want to say. But I can't. I have so much invested in self-censure. Protection. Lack of inclination to debate the point. Not wanting to expose a certain opinion and have it broadcast more widely. Too many people know me. Not enough anonymity. There has been a strong temptation to take it all underground- hide out in the blog land and never come back. Because out there I could say all kinds of shit and no one would connect it to me.

But I don't do it. Just like I never was one of those people who just took off on a Friday evening and drove into the mountains. That was Kboy. I just buried myself in books. Took my mind, not my body elsewhere.

And I still don't do it. Too attached to the world I've created right bloody here. Because even if I have to edit, it seems worthwhile to share with people who actually exist in my life. Not just the strangers, and fellow travelers.

And see-I've put my famous positive spin on it. Because that is the way I appear to roll. And it's fuck-all exhausting. But it is just built in. Like the kitchen cabinets. Even comes with a spice rack. Which doesn't properly fit the larger bottles of spices- very disappointing, that.

Maybe I'll just start a porno blog on the side, or something. Something that no one expects. And let it be that. But porno doesn't move me. Not the way that writing about things that matter to me does. Now that is one hell of an obvious statement. And I'm turning into an idiot on the spot. Time for more coffee. And some tv. Sweet tv, eases the pain of the reflection.

Coming up for air

And finally sanity is starting to settle in. Not only do I know where all of my shoes are (even in the same room), know where the plates will live, and am starting to think about cooking outside the microwave, but I've also gotten a handle on the malaise.

All it took was just getting over the abject feeling of total lack of control over everything. And that happened only because I focused on feeling ill-treated at work. When I'm not. It was just a stupid self-generated mind game. Which I am over, at least temporarily.

Other than that, nothing new to report, except to say that it appears that NASA doesn't have psychological profiles on the astronauts. Must not be important. Or it was part of the last round of budget cuts.

That's all I really have to say. Baby steps and all. Just give me a good night's sleep (over 3 hours) tonight, and I'll be golden.

And there is blockage

Of the writing variety. Just can't do it. Just can't think of diddly squat to say. Nothing. Zip.

Pisses me off.

Gonna go and try and think of something. Anything. Because it appears that I have hit a creativity nadir. And I don't think I like it very much.

Technical issues resolved

Life is on the upswing, I figgur.

We are getting things together. And unpacking. I still haven't found some of my kitchen stuff. Kind of important stuff when it comes to actually cooking...but it will happen.

I'm looking out the window at the sun rising over the Cascades. Yes, that view that I didn't know we had. Big trees in the middle of it, but I can cope with that. Trees are good. Until the next big wind storm and said trees knock out our power for a week. It can happen. Or so I'm told.

Nothing else to report here. Just gotta go get ready for the killer 10 minute commute. God, I hope Kbot doesn't read this- he's probably getting kind of steamed about his drive...and I shouldn't rub it in. He's been quite a trouper with this move and all. Gets to ride his motorcycle with his buddy into the city. Kind of a play date, as I see it. The little ruffians.

Wired up and ready...

But with nothing to say. Just tired of moving. And waiting for the cable guy.

And if any of you know about the following- please help:

RASing into the network at work. Won't bloody connect. Pisses me off.

Otherwise, just ignore that.

It's all good. Come to find out that we have a view after all. Of the Cascades. Not exactly the Seattle skyline, and the port. But not exactly crap, either.

Went through my entire closet and finally gave up on the size 8 crap. Ain't a gonna happen. And if by some miracle of fate it does, I'll buy another damned wardrobe. Not that I'm that much bigger, but enough. Kboy says it's all due to age, and I should just accept it. He likes me just the way I am. Awwwww...there's a fucking Bridget Jones moment if I ever heard one. But I appreciate his sentiment. Good to know he's a boy with some depth.

Enough about that.

Seriously. If you know about RASing into the network, let me know. This is bloody frustrating. And I'm the alleged techie of the department...sigh...

Testing my resolve

I have this thing. I want to write every day. But...it has been a busy week. And we're moving. Deep in the thick of it.

No internet at the new place yet. Heads up- things might be spotty post-wise for a few days. But I can check on friends from other places with internet. Not work- oh no! Never work. Don't even suggest such a thing.

Other than that, not much else to say. Just letting those of you who visit regularly know what's doing.

Scariest news of the day

My mom sent me this article.

Back story- this is the guy who tried (and failed) to molest me when I was 5. As if confirmation was needed that he is a predatory criminal:

Helena man sentenced in child porn case

By IR Staff - 01/13/07

Jeffrey Hilger of Helena was sentenced to five years in prison Thursday for receiving and possession of child pornography.

Hilger, 53, also will be on supervision for the rest of his life, according to information from the United States Attorney’s office. He was sentenced in Helena by Senior U.S. District Judge Charles C. Lovell.

The case was part of the nationwide Project Safe Childhood, created in February 2006 by Attorney General Alberto R. Gonzales to protect children from online exploitation and abuse.

Led by the United States Attorneys’ Offices, the project pulls together federal, state and local resources to locate, apprehend, and prosecute individuals who exploit children via the Internet, as well as to identify and rescue victims.

Hilger came to the federal government’s attention in 2002, when the FBI served a search warrant on a web hosting company in California. Agents seized the company’s database, which contained more than 20,000 names of suspected purchasers of child pornography who had used credit cards to buy the material. Hilger’s name was among those on the list.

Based upon this information, the FBI began an investigation of Hilger. On Aug. 25, 2005, FBI agents interviewed Hilger at his Helena home. Hilger admitted that he had tried to purchase access to a child pornography Web site in approximately 2002 but was denied access.

Hilger agreed to allow the agents to do a pre-search of his computers, and they found numerous images of child pornography. His computers were seized and Hilger admitted that all three of the computers contained child pornography that he had searched for, found, and saved via the Internet.

A forensic analysis of Hilger’s computer revealed numerous image files and movies containing images of children engaged in sexually explicit conduct.

No time to write more

Despite my promise earlier- been to busy. What with Kboy's birthday and moving, etc.

Try to do it later. That's the promise du jour. That I get to break with impunity if I need to!

And LX- fixed the blasted link to your page. I hate code. That's all.

The snow is melting

And last night we saw David Lynch. At a reading for his new book. It was a birthday present for Kboy. Because they share a birthday, doncha know. Also with Fellini- even though Fellini doesn't have birthdays anymore. Because he's DEAD.

The crowd was a tad skeevy. Some really disturbing individuals showed up, along with the requesite Seattle hipsters, and some just oddly normal looking folks.

Lynch himself looked kind of shrimpy. But not once he started to talk- with his hands fluttering around like birds in flight. Sounds silly, but was much more lyrical when combined with what he was saying and his geezer-gravel voice (reminded me of men from home). He was kind to all. And I felt like given what he had been saying, he is a pretty well-adjusted kind of guy.

The main gist of the whole thing was a Q & A about his career and about Transcendental Meditation- which was the main topic of the book. Overall, he tied it all together well, without sounding like a wing nut- it's always kind of cringeworthy to listen to people discuss their spiritual beliefs if they don't strike the perfect tone. This was more tied to creativity, which made it less...difficult to access. Personal process is one thing, it's another entirely to prosletize.

The final question of the night came from a boy in a trench coat. Both of us (without speaking about it) were prepared to take him down- he had that distinct possible shotgun in the lining vibe. He really, really NEEDED to ask Lynch about happiness/sadness and TM. He cut in line. The others let him. When he turned around, he was probably 20 years old and looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. Just agony. Lynch gave him one of the most compassionate and completely rational answers possible, and hopefully shot the poor kid a lifeline. And no Chapman episode occurred.

The first question of the night came from a girl who looked 12. But we found out later that she is 19. Just creepy in that non-socialized home-schooly way that some people who need a little more contact with the world are. She was there with her skeevy little dad. All in beige (him), she was dressed like a circa 1989 piano teacher at a recital. She was tiny. She had a present for Lynch. We didn't stay to watch her give it to him.

Got the book signed. And drum roll- got the answer to an urban Missoula legend.


NO- David Lynch did not ever live in the Wilma building.

There.

Happy Birthday.

Mama says

that a strong shot of sumpin sumpin will make you sleep better if you feel nasty.

Mama is right.

Now for those of you who just check in for the actual news items, not for the interior dialogue- here's the news flash.

There is snow. Lots and lots more snow. So...good thing I went to the store last night and stocked up on microwavable dinners. Because God loves the Hungry Man meals. And all the world loves Marie Callendar. Because she cooks everything with love and about 500 calories of fat. Screw Amy- she's the anemic, judgemental little Vegan bitch sister. Who is always harassing Marie about her love handles and cholesterol reading. Who is feeling the joy, though? Betcha it's not Amy. Who has perpetually dry skin. Needs some fat to grease things up.

I lied. Said I would keep to the news. See, even my good intentions are for naught. Because I just gotta spin.

We are looking with askance at the weather and wondering if it is safe to leave the house. We are wondering if we need to take one car and commute together part of the way. We are wondering if we'll get home tonight if we do leave. We are wondering many things.

But the good news of the morning- the Shakespeare Stout (pint of sheer joy in a bottle, I tells ye) did the trick. Because Mama said. And sleep, I did. The sleep of the just. Which could be theft, because no doubt I am not just and stole that from a more deserving soul. But fuck em. I needed it more.

2:27

I am showing jewelry in the dimly lit store to Grandma and another old lady. She is fascinated by a jewel encrusted ruby cameo (like such a thing exists), and puts it in her pocket. I am playing with a frosted ruby articulated raspberry. It fits on the end of my finger. It reminds me of ...something.

I look for a light switch- the light should be brazen and loud in a jewelry store. It must sparkle.

I ask the lady to the left of Grandma to get the cameo out of her pocket for me. "Give me the pretty lady." I put it back in the case and slide the door shut. I am waiting for my mom to come and don't know where she is.

Then I look at Grandma. Her eyes get funny. I hear the crescendo from A Day in the Life (the original version)- cue the orchestra- DUM...dum.....buzzz... And see her slump against the glass. Her face is pressed into the side of the case. She has had a stroke. It's very bad. I panic.

I run towards the back of the store, and see mom on the phone. She waves me away with a casual irritation that enrages me. I tell her Grandma had a stroke. She says, "finally." Sighs and hangs up the phone.

It's 2:27.

The haunting

Now I've finally figured it out.

I had a conversation with a friend a couple of weeks ago when I told her that I carry my ghosts around with me. That's where they live. The only place, really. Because I have a huge investment in keeping them alive in there.

Then I figured it out. It's not the individuals who are the ghosts. It's the collective whole. The entirety of the first 6 years of my life. Drum roll...the ghost is of an unbelievably happy early childhood. Golden sunlight drenches the whole damned thing. And it is damned. Because it ended. And therein is the poison that has leeched strength, surety and pretty much most of the satisfaction from a job well done that I could glean for years. It is absolutely impossible to live up to that time. It is impossible to re-create the feeling of being beloved on that scale, safe in that way, and not exposed to the darkness.

So intervening years whittled away at plenty of the good-will of the universe. And I stubbornly held onto the remnants- be they the paper dolls that my Grandma bought me when I was 5, to the memory of the plants that grew in my back yard. All of it is in there- suspended in amber. Just waiting to be re-created. But that's impossible, right? Because I'm not suspended in amber with the memories and relics. I have been touched by the darkness that came later. I have been altered irrevocably. And really, that's not a bad thing. It's not the point- to accuse and assign blame. There were very good things about coming in contact with the base elements of human nature. Knowledge is a double-edged sword, no? And yes, it plummeted me out of my own personal little garden of Eden, and into the real world- with very few tools to cope.

But over time, these developed. And in my blackest moments, I can scream and rail inside about how much potential I lost and how much momentum I lost by having to claw myself out of the darkness. That if I hadn't had to suffer all of that I could've been something. But that is empty. Because the reality is that it's totally irrelevant. Theoretical success. Entitlement uber alles. Irrelevant.

It's what I can do now that counts. With the ghosts named, filed away, and in reserve- because those amber memories have a curious strength. It means something to know that I was loved that much. That I was so very safe. That I was so very secure. It is a good starting point. Now that the bitterness has bled away- drop by acid drop. Opening the vein wasn't fun. Painful as hell. But here I am. Feeling clean inside. Ready to go in the back yard in my mind and smell the lilacs. Because in that place, they are always in bloom.

Now that the snow and ice have settled

I am home on another ice/snow day. The hill next to our house is solidly ice. So I don't think I'll be working. Good news- I put in monster overtime hours earlier this week, so won't get hit financially.

I really can't think of any bad news. None really. Still in jammies. Just finished the coffee. Leisurely perusal of all of my favorite websites. I have to recommend Stuff on my Cat today- particularly delicious.

I'm going to hit the Tivo and start watching movies next. If Kboy doesn't drive me batshit with his nervous energy. I think I'll send him on a hike down the hill. To evaluate the ice. I'll make sure he puts on his snow suit, mittens and hat first.

Remember those? I hated my snow suit. I hated my mittens. And I still hate my hat. I preferred icy hands- because I could do stuff with the fingers. Mittens felt like being crippled. And the snow suit made me look silly, I thought. I was all about the glamour at the age of 7. Sure got over that quickly. Dumb ass kid that I was.

We went to the store last night before the road froze. And saw lots of little kids in their snow suits. On adventures with their parents. They looked excited. I realized that they are probably having the winter of their lives. So many snow days! It was overkill, though. Because it didn't get motherass cold until this morning. And even then, cold is a relative term. I will justify my wimpiness by saying that we are getting a very chilly wind off of the water at our house. And it IS actually cold as hell.

Yeah- enough with this crap

Just got home from a 5 hour commute. 17 miles. It sucked ass.

I got to experience all of the CDs in my changer.

It was time-wise comperable to crossing Washington State.

We are so going to move soon.

Fuck this shit.

Even though the Beastie Boys were involved.

Didn't make it that much better.

I'm gonna go drink a smokey porter and forget my troubles.

Monday

Despite the coffee I just can't shake it.

Sleep and perchance dreaming.

Not that it was an untroubled night.

Too much caffiene, cats on the bed and snores from next to me took care of that.

But after it all settled down, all should've been well.

But not really.

Because at night the devils come out to play.

The banshees shriek.

The demons chase eachother around the landscape of my head.

Like some kind of populated Pinkham Ryder painting.

There was one in the ASU art museum.

I would stare at it for what seemed to be hours at a time.

Losing myself in the texture and the depth of the color.

Thinking that if I could just reach in far enough, the Arizona sun couldn't reach me.

And that I could then sink into the green darkness and rest a while.

Basic life update

We are planning the big move to the East Side. Which causes much dismay around our house, but there isn't much of a choice.

It would buy back at least 10 hours of my life per week. It would save over $100/week on gas. It would lessen the chances of my early death or dismemberment at the hands of some idiot motorist lacking their morning coffee.

We looked at a house yesterday, and are waiting to hear if we got it. It's ...ok...nothing special. This place was special. Mainly for the view and location. But since I've been working, those things aren't as important- not here to enjoy them like I was before.

Good things- this new place will be closer to work, Uwajimaya (Japanese market that I like), and lakes.

Bad things- Bellevue is a tad plastic. Bellevue has lots of very rich people who form a little red dot in a blue state. It isn't Seattle.

But the landlady is back from her deployment, and waiting to have her home back. So there isn't any choice. And this hill is probably going to slide down to the sound any day now- as the ground is like a sodden sponge from all of the rain.

So there's where we are at. Waiting. But knowing. And regretting all of those boxes of books.

A trip to REI

I am looking for a sweater. A specific one. That I saw elsewhere, but not the right size.

So we went to REI.

Desultory wandering around the store.

Packed with feverish-looking people.

All demanding the outdoors lifestyle.

It made me feel sick and headachy.

Because I don't want a lifestyle.

I want a life.

And besides, REI used to be cheap and cool.

Key operating word here= used.

Let's get this straight- once and for all

I am not going to be a mommy. That train has left the station. That boat has floated.

Not interested.

No, I don't hate children.

Yes, I have fully intact mommy instincts. That's what the kitties are for.

I do not now, nor do I ever want to be a mommy.

I am stopping the whole thing with me.

I have no desire to propigate for family, money, country or genetics.

I have no desire to cause another human being to endure my personality.

Especially a helpless little one.

I have inflicted enough damage on others in my life.

That's over now. The helpless ones, at least.

The rest of you...you were warned.

Be prepared. Wear your seatbelts. And if you have a helmet, wear it too!

Twisted road ahead.

Because some sins aren't forgivable. And I keep an updated catalog in my head of mine.

A general warning

Girl is cranky today. Slept very poorly. Dreamed inexplicable things. Eyes hurt upon waking. Grainy-like.

Just want to crawl back in bed. But can't. Too much stupid crap that doesn't mean anything to get done.

And......scene.

Found written inside the cover of a little kid's religious textbook. What is your 10-20, God?

I don't think the boy who wrote this ever got a good answer.

He's an atheist now.

New Years Eve in dullsville

We didn't go out. We didn't do much. We watched French movies, drank a couple of special beers and went to bed at 12:05. We slept and slept.

We are happy. We watched the fireworks from the bedroom window. We kissed. We went to bed and slept and slept.

We woke up without the hangovers of New Years pasts. We woke up with our colds intact, but diminished. We had slept and slept.

We woke up to a grey day, and a Samuel L. movie on the TV. Get those Motherfucking snakes off of this Motherfucking plane. But not that Samuel L. movie. It's just the first thing I think of. We slept until it was on. Slept and slept.

I feel right now like I don't have to ever sleep again. But that worm will turn later. And I will sleep. And dream again.

Survivorman weekend

Leave it to Kbot to find the Survivorman marthon. All I can say is that the idiot on the TV should stay in the SUV and leave danger alone. But that would make crappy tv.

Quick question- is Lord Admiral really comperable to General? I didn't think so. Let's debate, shall we? But then, I would have to care. And really, today I don't. With all due respect. I said, with all due respect. (If you haven't seen Taledega Nights:the Ballad of Ricky Bobby, you'll miss the allusion. Along with many, many other things.)

New Years. Right. Unless you're Chinese, to whom this must seem much like premature ejaculation- because their New Year is later. And they spend a crapload more money going to casinos and betting it all away at the Pai Gow poker tables. Or so I'm told. Not Chinese, don't know firsthand.

About resolutions- and revolutions. Same thing, by degree in my life. But none made. None ever get made. Because I'm suspicious of promises made in accordance to the calendar. Rather than by sheer inclination. I guess the main principles remain steady- don't go batshit with the new year, keep the employment steady, change the litter box before it starts to stink, read a good book every few days, watch good movies and ruminate endlessly about them- just because it's fun, keep in touch with friends and family, and maintain. Not much more to add. Can't promise to lose 20 pounds by easter. Probably take too much effort, and be due more to a moratorium on food than anything else. And I hate not eating. Makes me cranky. And headachy. Which also makes me cranky. Which would lead to me not doing many of the above things. Which would be bad. So screw it. Lose what I want by easter.

The little white cat is screaming at me. I think he wants attention. So I gotta go. If I don't appease the little beasts, they could possibly turn on me- like rabid racoons. Which would make for an abbreviated New Year's celebration. Indeed.

Have a wonderful time, all!

The ghosts of Christmas past

Funny how every Christmas seems more and more haunted. I understand Dickens. If not love him- he's actually my second least favorite English author. After D H Lawrence (I've read most of his works, and just cannot enjoy any of them- ditto Thomas Hardy- he makes me want to open a vein).

Anyway, we are driving around the state, and almost every place I look I am haunted by something- whether it's a place, a person, a memory, or just a feeling. We go to Bozeman, and I see images of my past there. We go to Missoula, and I see what it was like in the spring, when I was much younger. We go to Helena, and I see what's missing and been replaced on the streets I drive. I see the faces of the dead. I hear their laughter. I feel their absence. It's kind of hard to process- needs time.

Coming home to this place- where it smells of green- even in the winter- is a welcome relief after the onslaught of memory. Too much memory in too short of a time. It starts to hurt. But it also feels so damned good at the same time. Like I could slip down into the current of it and be bourne away on the warm water. But the fear is that that same warm water is nothing more than some kind of Freudian raw sewage.

So back in the green place. Where I can contemplate it all at more of a distance. And worry it less. And love it more. Detached only in theory. Does a place ever get its hooks out of your flesh?

Weighing in

I am troubled by what I see as undue haste to kill Sadam. Basically what I see it as an indicator of more than anything else is the fragility of the government. That they needed to kill him before he was liberated by someone and put back in power. I just am mystified how a court appeal could be resolved in less than a week. And that the US court was even consulted. It just was such a foregone conclusion, despite W's pronouncement of a "fair" trial. There was no such thing in this instance. Never would be. Never could be.

I would argue that it was akin to Nurenburg in that way- we all know how it's going to turn out. Crimes against humanity demand that kind of satisfaction. Fair or not. And I'm certainly not an apologist for the Nazis, or for Sadam. Bastards all, who well deserved their end. I'm just troubled by the haste of the Sadam thing. It seemed very, well, fourth down drop back and punt.

I'll be interested to see if it forms any basis for stability there. Maybe knocking some of the wind out of the sails of his former supporters. Or it could be the lit match that will cause an essssplosion.

There. Now I have added my voice to something that no one needed me to discuss.

The walk

The boys planned their adventure for several days prior to setting out. They had their favorite sticks. Bob had his cowboy boots. Butch had his work boots. They had their pocket knives. The day of the adventure, Mom packed sandwiches in wax paper in a bag, with a candy bar, and a bottle of pop.

They started walking east, along the road. They were heading to Granny's house in East Helena. It was a five mile walk. It was early. The sun hadn't melted all of the dew off of the weeds in the ditch by the road. It would be warm, though. That was promised.

As they walked, they explored. If there was a bump that looked like it could hide something dead, they stopped and checked. Dead things could be really interesting if you hit them with rocks. If there was a can, it needed to be kicked. And it was important to see who could kick the farthest.

They walked. Their boots got dusty. The bottom of their pants got dusty. The sun got warmer. East Helena seemed very far away. But so did home.

Cars went by, driving quickly on the highway. They made up a game of counting the red ones. And seeing what license plates were on the cars. And seeing if they could put big rocks in the road to clang off of the hubcaps.

The day got hotter. The sun was high in the sky. There were small clouds filtering by- blown by the everpresent western breeze.

They decided that they should eat their lunches. It was tough carrying the paper bags without crushing the food. And the candy bars probably had melted by now.

The sandwiches were peanut butter and jam. The candy bars were very melty, but still worth peeling off the paper to eat. The pop was warm, but still fizzy. They were ready to bury their pile of garbage in the dirt and continue on their trip. But first, they had to try and break the thick glass bottles with rocks. Because that was all part of the fun. The first one who succeeded won.

Finally, in the late afternoon, they were walking down the street to Granny's house. The pine trees in her yard made her porch shady and welcoming. Her door was open, and the screen door filtered the sound of the radio from inside. They could smell her cooking something for dinner.

They were tired. Bob's feet hurt in the cowboy boots. Butch had torn his pants climbing over some barbed wire. They walked into the house, dusty and tired. With sunburns and sticky hands. And Granny welcomed them like returning heroes. With cold pop and sliced apples with cinnamon.

It had been a successful adventure.

Back in black

And I'm glad to be back. Haven't downloaded photos from the trip yet. But have cleaned out the emails built up in 3 accounts. And have handled it.

MT was ...same as it ever was...same as it ever was...same...as...it...ever...was.

But good.

I'll write more later. Need a nap. Because...I just feel like it.

Holding pattern

We'll be leaving soon for our annual roadtrip. Kind of like a pilgrimage, if you will. Only, unlike the Hajj, there are no pillars for us to throw rocks at, and no one gets crushed by tens of thousands of people. There just aren't enough people in the state of MT to qualify for that kind of event.

So, since the majority of our families lack internet access, I will be effectively offline. Which is probably the healthiest I'll be for a few days. In the absence of compulsively checking my email accounts (yes, accounts, plural), I'll try to find a few other unique nervous tics. Hopefully something with sound. Because that'll make the 14 hour roadtrip more interesting. Maybe I'll start clearing my throat compulsively. That won't bother Kboy.

Anyway, have a good few days, bon voyage, etc.

Dolores mouths off

You robbed me of my name. You named me Lo li ta. Something simple. Something with syllables that rolled off the tongue. Something that I had no choice in. How typical.

You cast yourself as some kind of victim. You acted the fool in print. You acted the pathetic, put-upon victim. When in reality you were the predator.

You fleshed out your character in print as the urbane humanist who had this little weakness for young female flesh. And then it was all my fault. Because of proximity. Because you insisted that you saw something in me that wasn't there. Interest. Sexuality. Maturity.

You just wouldn't leave it alone. Not for a day. Not for a minute. I always knew that you were watching. Constantly watching. Looking for a small avenue inside my head. Where I kept myself.

You killed my love. You killed the man who offered me an escape. An avenue away from your control. An escape from your vigilance. Yes, he was just like you in a way, but he gave me the chance to act. To be myself.

Luckily I could force you out. Keep you out of my mind, if not my body. Just keep it on the vapid level. Just act the kid. Just act the sullen teen. Just act my age. Resist the esoteric. See I do know a few big words. You resented it. You pushed. I kept my guard up. I had no choice. You saw to that. It was one big emptiness.

You wondered about the poverty. You felt so sorry for us. Living like we did. And you gave me money. That was good. For services rendered, I figure. But I wouldn't trade one moment of squalid freedom for the guardianship that you provided. With the slavery that it implied.

Jumping the Shark

Give me a break. It's been a busy week. Yeah- I'm defensive. What of it. Do you wanna make something of it? Huh?

Anyway, now that I've gotten the chest beating (which hurts- I'm a girl) out of the way, a friend sent this to me- said it was by the excorable Jeff Foxworthy. So apologies are in order up front. But it is a break (welcome, I expect) from me whining about the weather. And like I said above, I'm just to damned tired tonight to care. But still- the love is there. Just tired love, that's all. And another disclaimer- I have NO idea why some words are capitalized. It distracted me while I was reading- I tried to see if the capitalized words were some kind of code. Then I got tired. And didn't care anymore.

Cheers.

If "vacation" to you means going shopping for the Weekend in Great Falls , Billings or Bozeman (while The kids swim at the Comfort Inn), You might live in Montana .

If parking your car for the night involves an extension cord You might live in Montana

If you consider it a sport to gather your food by drilling Through 8 inches of ice and sitting there all Day hoping that the food will swim by, You might live in Montana .

If you're proud that your state makes the national news Primarily because it houses the coldest spot in the nation, You might live in Montana .

If you have ever refused to buy something because it's "too spendy", You might live in Montana

If your local Dairy Queen is closed from November through March, You might live in Montana .

If someone in a store offers you assistance, and they don't work There, You might live in Montana .

If your dad's suntan stops at a line curving around the middle of his Forehead, You might live in Montana .

If you have worn shorts and a parka(coat) at the same time, You might live in Montana .

If your town has an equal number of bars and churches, You might live in Montana .

If you know how to correctly pronounce Butte , You might live in Montana .

If you measure distance in hours, You might live in Montana .

If your family vehicle is a crew cab pickup, You might live in Montana .

If you know several people who have hit deer more than once, You might live in Montana .

If you often switch from "heat" to "A/C"in the same day and back Again, You might live in Montana .

If you can drive 65 mph through 2 feet of snow during a raging Blizzard, without flinching, You might live in Montana .

If you see people wearing hunting clothes at social events, You might live in Montana .

If you've installed security lights on your house and garage and Leave both unlocked, You might live in Montana .

If the largest traffic jam in your town centers around a high school Basketball game, You might live in Montana .

If you carry jumper cables in your car and your girlfriend knows how To use them, You might live in Montana .

If there are 7 empty cars running in the parking lot at Wal-Mart at Any given time, You might live in Montana .

If there are more people at work on Christmas Eve Day than on Deer Gun Opener, You might live in Montana .

If you design your kid's Halloween costume to fit over a snowsuit, You might live in Montana .

If driving is better in the winter because the potholes are filled With snow, You might live in Montana .

If you know all 4 seasons: almost winter, winter, still winter and Road construction, You might live in Montana .

If you can identify a southern or eastern accent, You might live in Montana .

If you consider Red Lodge exotic, You might live in Montana .

If your idea of creative landscaping is a statue of a deer next to Your cottonwood, You might live in Montana .

If the sunbelt to you means Miles City , You might live in Montana .

If a brat is something you eat, You might live in Montana .

If finding your misplaced car keys involves looking in the ignition, You might live in Montana .

If you find 0 degrees a little chilly, You might live in Montana .

Just quick

Am waking up later than had planned. Mainly because I can.

So all is well.

Sky is leaking. Go figure.

Kbot is on a relatively fruitless roadtrip to MT- because he must like to drive 12 hours one way- four times in one week. The big doofus.

And now I go to work. Where it's getting emptier by the day. As people slough off to holiday vacations.

We leave on Saturday. Because Kbot said so. I gotta throw the boy a bone once in a while!

Um- about that last post

Yeah- a bit cranky.

sorry about that.

It was a passing thing.

all is well.

send the damned St. Bernards in.

We need those boys.

Brains.....Brains.....

This place is downright creepy. On Friday, I fully expected to see hoards of shuffling zombies hunting for human food on the drive home. And so quiet. The street just below us was dark. The stoplight at the bottom of our hill was out. The coffee shop next to the intersection was silenced.

The gas station at the top of the hill was insane. Luckily I was there early. I hear that some stations have run out of fuel.

People are gassing themselves into the hospital by burning barbeques in their homes. I say, perhaps it's natural selection at work. Just like those smarties who burn down their trailers in the winter when they take a blow torch to the frozen pipes underneath. Stupid people die. Fuckers. And get off the damned highways.

One of my co-workers said it has that kind of 24 hours after feeling. And all because we are partially off of the grid. God help us if the mountain ever blows. We are fucked then. Even though we live on a hill, and have semi-sufficient survival skills. The idiots would rule. If it does happen, drink one for me, and think a happy thought about cranky white kitties.

I don't know yet if we have power at work. I hate the idea of busting ass to drive 2 hours to get there and then find out that there's no light in my building. But I suppose that it's worth sucking it up and finding out. Then I can be the hero again. And save the day with my mysteriously impressive supply of computer batteries.

fucking Seattle.

We interrupt the Decologue

To bring you a weather report.

It's fuck all wet out.

They are predicting 60+ mph winds tonight, with a high likelihood of power outages.

It took 2 hours to get home.

Thank you.

Back to our regularly scheduled programming, already in progress.


Fuck it- I'm gonna go throw Ricky Bobby on the DVD player, drink a beer and go to bed. Because it's the ladylike thing to do.

Numbers 4 and 5- existential question of the day

Now how is it possible to take something in vain, or put something in front of something else if said something either might or might not exist?

In other words, if you are like me, and there is no leap of faith possible- despite numerous attempts over the years in different arenas where leaps of faith are necessary, how do you avoid breaking the two top tenants of well, faith? And why the hell worry in the first place? Just opt the hell out.

College boyfriend- did the bait and switch. Was a closet case fundamentalist. Thought it was fun to lure me in with the disguise of being normal. Then tried everything to convert me to his ...faith. Despite my protestations that there can be no original sin. It's all fabrication to cover some kind of zeitgeist of guilt. That sex can be fun and sin-free- because adultery cannot exist without being married. Aha, he said- but you're committing adultery against your future husband. Fait acompli, saith I. So why not compound the sin, as it's been committed. But forgiveness is possible, said he. How so? Do you know my future husband already, and he's forgiven? By God. Whatever. Who the hell asked him to enter into the discussion. This is a private affair, so to speak, between me and the man of my dreams. Who wouldn't mind a little ...water under that particular bridge, if you catch my drift- because I am the sum of my experience. And tell me, have you ever been experienced? Well I have. And that's not something that is negotiable.

And there you have it. Get my drift. Enjoy the show. Move on, folks. Nothing more to see here. And see, I lie again. Plenty more where that came from. Just don't expect faith to draw miracles down in sheets like heavy rain. Or hail would be more like it. Because I suspect that miracles leave tiny pebble-shaped bruises in their wake. Because miracles have to have an aftermath. They just have to.

Number 3- starting my life of crime

When I was in first grade, I didn't even think twice about stealing. I wanted something, so I took it. I would typically put the purloined item in my lunchbox, and take it home.

Then I got caught. It had been a banner day. I had a lunchbox crammed with stolen items- it was actually bulging at the sides (stupid soft-side lunchbox with the mushroom design on it- grandparents were too uncool to spring for the metal super-hero box). It was really kind of obvious in retrospect.

There was an unveiling before the classroom. Imagine the mortification, as when it was opened on my desk, all of the items sprang forth. I was dragged into the hallway by my teacher, where she threatened to take me to the principal's office. This was back in the day of thrashing for felonies. I cried. I remember the fear. She relented. She made me promise to never steal again.

I really wish that I had kept that promise...

Number 2- brief shots

Is messing around on a boyfriend/girlfriend really comperable to doing the same with a spouse? I would argue...kinda...but then...

-High School boyfriend # something or other- comes over to my house on Valentine's Day, sporting a vast and varied array of luminous hickeys on his neck. That I didn't inflict. Said it was a reaction to the soap in the boy's locker room. No, I didn't believe him. And no, I never laid a finger on his sorry ass again.

-High School boyfriend- a few later down the road- gets caught messing around with another girl- because I have friends in other towns. Who report shit and enjoy the ensuing drama. He tries to deny, but I fuck it all up for him by making sure that the other girl finds out about me. No one said I played fair.

-College boyfriend- thinks it's cool as hell to show up at an event with another girl in tow. After we had enjoyed a nooner. Fucker.

-College boyfriend- another one- decides that it's fine to stay out all night. Even though when he returned the next morning, smelling of someone else's perfume, it was all because of a "hug." We had just moved in together. Saddest thing- it took me 3 more years of his happy horseshit to kick him out. And that occurred only after things got...borderline violent...physically. The verbal violence was really quite prevalent around that time...sigh...

- And I don't really feel like discussing my side of these kinds of mis-adventures. Suffice it to say, two can play. And the above were the times I was the victim. Innocent, that is- if that word can ever really apply.

But comperable to the married dalliance? No fucking way. Now that I think of it. We have an agreement. Before that happens, we skedaddle. Because I would never dream of inflicting that kind of thing on the K-boy. It's just not something that I could live with in myself. Some of the earlier crap is just difficult enough.

The really nice thing is that it does fade away. The bite is gone. The urge to call up in the middle of the night whilst drunk and scream invectives is gone. Because they don't matter. Not anymore. But I do still remember how it felt. Back in the day.

Number 2- round one

We were waiting on the bus. For-ever. Because we were teenagers, and any wait was for-ever.

We were going on a speech/drama meet in Billings. That was cool. We got the chartered bus for the occasion. Any roadtrip over 2 hours merited an upgrade from the regular schoolbus. Members of the drama club who typically avoided meets to nearer towns crawled out of the woodwork for the Billings trip. Because it would be crowned by a trip to the RIMROCK MALL. Highlight of the weekend. Beat the hell out of the hometown crap.

We were waiting. Couldn't figure out who we were waiting for. All of the members of both teams were on board. As were the coaches.

Then he arrived. The principal. Which freaked me the fuck out. Why the hell was he getting on our bus? This was unprecedented. No administrator had ever come on one of our trips.

We were in a kerfluffle. But that faded once we hit the road, and started playing Adam Ant and AC/DC on the boomboxes. I suspect in retrospect that there were some sexuality issues at play with the music choice. One boy in particular kept choosing the buttrock. But he knew all the words to the Adam Ant songs. Hmmmm.

So we get to Billings. All is well. The hotel has a sauna. I get to go to the sauna with a few cute speech club members- because the drama boys were rare, and pretty obviously gay for the most part. It was fun. There were ice fights. There were dramatic events in the hallways.

Overall it was a typical meet. We made the finals, but didn't win. We shopped our money away on sparkly, shiny silly 80's baubles. I had a new boyfriend by the time I got home. It didn't last long. And that was really ok- because he was a dweeby kid.

But the mystery of the principal on the bus was solved. Seems he was banging the speech coach. And it was an out-of-towner for them. Classy. I just wonder how long it stayed under wraps after basically outing themselves on a bus chock full o teens. From a smallish town.

Number 1- third act

The old man's eyes were so tired. I knew on the spot that it would be our last meeting. He just seemed worn out. It was a hard day.

He had gone hunting that morning, and shot his final deer. From the truck. Not strictly legal, despite the tag. But I seriously doubt any but the most asshole game warden would ticket a 91 year old man with a walker who could still shoot straight, if not walk upright without assistance.

A couple of days before he died, he was in the shop at his house. His son asked him what he was doing at the bandsaw. "making this." was the reply. It was a wood panel to attach to his walker. So that he could put his concealed weapon behind it. Because he still carried the permit.

The end occurred gently, with his sons in the next room. So he wasn't alone. It was hard, but not scary. Difficult, but not tragic. Gently. Just a light snuffing out of the candle. Smoke rising slowly from the wick to the ceiling.

Cue the curtain.

Number 1- another time

I did like to kill, though. I have to be honest. I had a real thing for stomping on bees. When I was 4. I would run around the yard barefoot, and stomp on the bees that were visiting the dandelions. Or with shoes on. Didn't matter. Small wonder I'm allergic to the bloody things.

Then when I was 6 and had my bike, I made a game out of playing god with the ants on our sidewalk. I would let some live, then ride along smashing every one I could get. Then I would be benevolent and let them all live- avoiding riding over all of them. Unless it was one of the large red biting ants. Then I would run over it and skid. With my back racing slick tire.

So somewhere, there's a Buddhist crying for my sins. Knowing full well that my next life will be devoted to being stomped on by a really stupid 4 year old. But I'll be able to sting her sorry ass, and cause swelling. Ha ha.

Number 1

I have never hunted. Despite the long tradition in my family, including both parents (there are photos of my mother in a red jumpsuit with a dead antelope- pregnant with me), and almost every extended relative. Never done it. Fishing- sure. Not well, and not in over 20 years. Never with the hunting.

There was an attempt made. When I was about 5 or 6. I think 5- just because of the surroundings I remember. They took me out in the woods in the truck with them. I remember being told to be quiet. Then there was a deer- or someone said there was a deer. I didn't see the deer. Because I was little and didn't know where to look. Or what to look for.

I started screaming, "RUN BAMBI!!!"

Dad spanked me. Then took me back to my grandparent's house in shame.

I went into the basement where my uncle's room was. He had left incense burning. I touched the burner and burnt my finger. I cried. Grandma put butter on it.

That's all I remember of the killing.

(and I would put good money on it that the story varies immensely if you asked my dad- but I'm relying on the memory of a 5 year old. The butter/burn part is true. The rest- I just dunno. It's how I remember.)

Coming down with my annual holiday sick

The cold this time. Getting out of bed is more than a chore. It takes everything. Just want to lay there. Warm. Sleepy. And drift off. Float more.

But there is plenty keeping me up. Gotta run. Gotta keep the commerce spilling over the top of the dam. Gotta keep up.

It's all ok, though. Because this year, it looks like I'll get the cold out of the way well before the actual holiday road trip.

Sleighbells ring, are you listening?

Bitterness sinks into the bones. Rendering them heavy and brittle. Both at once. Like some strange radioactive isotope- only found in the lab, under stressful conditions, and for a moment at a time.

That feeling- of sinking deeper into the warp and weft of tissue- is complicated. There's a single-mindedness to it. There's a monomoniacal aspect not to be ignored. Because overall, it's all about the me. Or the you, as the case may be.

But to really dive in. To dive as deep as it goes. Requires either bravery or stupidity. Or just some very good drugs. Your choice. Pick a winner. (or pick a winno)Because coming up for air isn't always an option. Like the mythical acid trip that my friends warned me about. Never would share the goods. Always said I couldn't deal with it. "You can't HANDLE the truth." I call shenanegans.

And that's to say that it's a desirable thing. To go deep. To receive the pass from mid-field. While the cheerleaders do their prancy little sexy thing. And all the boys want to be a hero. Just for one day.

Sometimes superficial appears to be the only option. Because if you're not alone, or have limited time or resources, the deep diving is impossible. No one can come along for the ride. It's not a thing that can be shared. So how are you today? Well, fine thanks. Great weather. Yeah, no rain. Did you find a parking space? Yeah, luckily....ad infinitum.

Because you want to shield others from the sheer mass of volume in the head-screaming and screaming and screaming. I WANT OUT. I WANT IN. I WANT. Because wanting is easier than having. Because once you have it, what the hell do you do with it? Put it in a closet. Or just try to cram it into the available spaces. Because once you have it, the reality of it takes over. Making the imaginary romance of the unobtainable and desirable vanish like a dream of mist on the water.

And to answer an unasked question, yes, I did just get back from Christmas shopping, thank you.

More happy thoughts of the season

You are what you eat, wear, spend, drive...
But actually, you are the summation of your choices.
Live with them, they are yours.
Live with them, bad or good.
Scar tissues builds up into a carapice.
When it's intact, it should deflect bullets.
Figuratively, of course- because you lack the prayers that deflect the real thing.
The proper sacrifices haven't been made.
The proper deals haven't been struck.
But overall that's ok.
Because the kind of bullets I'm talking about only
draw imaginary blood.
The kind that wakes you up in the middle of the night screaming.
Because it's pretend horror. And pretend blood.
But real pain.
Them's the breaks, cap'n.
Choices with the accompanying cacophany of results.
Own them. They are your real children.
Because they helped you grow up.
Because you are your only real child.
Everthing else is self-sufficient.
Causal effect, sure.
But overall it's all surface.
The deep stuff remains inside, basically untouched unless you let it...
And to live it's gotta get shaken up sometimes.
But it always pools back in the center- like a mirrored lake of mercury.
Shiny, heavy, liquid. But heavily metallic and toxic if ingested.
But play with it anyway- because those of us about to die salute you.
Because we all are about to die. If you calculate in tree years.

Because Bwana wants it

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

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

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

Stupid scorpion.

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

Stupid cockroach.

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

While trying not to crawl out of my skin

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aborted starts and the resultant stops

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

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

Just amusing myself...sort of.

Snow day

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

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

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

Grapevine

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

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

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

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

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

THROW THE TURKEY AWAY!!!

What do ya got for me now?

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

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

Weighing in on the new James

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

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

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

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

It's the holiday I used to dread

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

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

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

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

And bonsai trees. And orchids- especially cattleyas.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Couldn't sleep for shit last night

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

Stupid, stupid things.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Confidential to Bill

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

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

And I really liked Will Smith

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cue the Vader overture

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

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

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

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

Another image from the past

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Between the breakdowns

In communication, in habit, in emotional states.

All is pretty much the same.

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

If not mine, someone else's.

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

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

But I will use it.

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

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

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

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

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

The sun might also rise

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's a corker

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

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

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

Fucking drama queen state. Gotta make a dramatic entrance.

A funny thing

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

Gotta say, this makes me a happy girl.

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

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

Funny set of circumstances

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

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

Here:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jaysus Mary and Joseph

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now to reflect back

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

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

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

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

Just waiting

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

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

Is that asking so damned much?

But who the hell was listening?

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

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

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

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

I always wondered about the teachers' daughters.

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