With all of the excitement

This morning Squirrel TV took a sinister turn. No good drama is baked without a villain. So today we found him. He is a neighbor cat who stood outside our window and growled at the boys. Who were mewing themselves silly inside, brushing against the glass, and sending plenty of good cheer vibes outward. He would have none of that and slowly stalked off, furry table at full battle fluff. With the most offended glare imaginable.

All he wanted was easy squirrel pickings. And then there were these cats...and then there were these laughing people...dammit anyway. Totally spoiled the mood of the thing for him.

This is about 5 miles from the parental estate. Beware the Gillies- they are very protective.

The evening before last we had dinner with what appears to be one of the last vestiges of Empire. She was born, bred and raised Empire. Veddy veddy British/Malay/Aussie. Veddy veddy polite, nice, interesting, but of a certain ilk. The kind of person who would listen to almost anyone, tell them entertaining stories, and then reserve judgment until they left the building. Luckily she liked us. But there is just something about that kind of person- makes me a tad uncomfortable- like if I let my guard down, I'll get totally slammed for being common.

But she is older, and very, very rich. With wonderful jewels. And an interesting life spent many time zones beyond mine. And she worked very hard on the dinner. We like her.

I just had to keep reminding myself to use the appropriate fork, and not to talk whilst my mouth was overfull. So sometimes I am actually thankful that my mean Grandfather taught me the manners under duress when I was 6. God the trauma, that. But probably for the best now.

It's all in my mind, remember? All of it. All of you. Crowded in there
like little mouse babies. Naked and pink. Blind and squirmy.
With cotton balls (cotton wool in Britain) jammed into the corners
to keep out the drafts.

Just imagine the smell, would you? And you wonder why I am a touch
off sometimes? Seriously, people.

I just read the perfect plane book if you are a bitter, middle-aged underachieving female. Bitter is the New Black. Why did it make me bitter? Because it is a book I should've written. But it is funnier than I am. And more successful all around. And basically it points out that I wasted 2 years of my life being unemployed and doing very little with the time.

I must point out that this discussion/monologue has no real purpose and isn't very productive.

Why must I point that out? Because that is the kind of moron I have become. All has to be productive. Because even if it means that I get the joy of unemployment again, I still have to be motivated. Because that's how I roll, people.

Funny thing, I can't even show up to work late if I try. And I have tried on occasion. That blows.

Breaking through and starting up with anything lately is like pushing through the flat part of a drum. Like there's a membrane keeping me from the other side. And it's stretchy and pully. Probably sticky too- because membranes are mostly icky.

Making me very useless around birthing things. Icky.

Making me very useless around leather factories. Icky.

Pretty much have to resign myself to being useless pretty much everywhere in the world but here. And here is debatable.

1 month 13 days. Then the dole. Not like the bananas. More like last year. And the year before. The hours just pile up. Looking like they would be nice from this vantage point. But I already know that it's a trap. And a lie. Because with the dole comes anxiety of a different sort. Maybe not the yellow LED nightmare, but other nightmares willingly fill the void.

Polish the resume. Get out there and meet and greet. Remember to smile. Remember to play the game. Remember to keep positive.

Happenings on the Farm

It is just an alternative universe. The calendar has everyone in town's birthdays printed on it. The central photo is the 5 kids graduating from the high school. There seems to be a definitive finite number of these. Kids, I mean. It's a tottering place- I can't judge if it's dying or not, just not very vibrant.
The newbies are from elsewhere- looking for retirement grounds. Not interested in making a sub-standard living- they've already done that elsewhere. Where the pickings are better.

The place revolves around gossip. And dropping in on your neighbors. No calling ahead. Just showing up. God forbid you are taking a nap. Or enjoying a nooner. Or just having quiet time. Get ready to discuss the fences, the weather, the town drunk, or just the time of day.

After several days I am ready to gouge my eardrums out with a sharp screwdriver. Because despite loving the inhabitants of this place, there is no romance there for me. Only the constrictions that I ran away from 20+ years ago. It's like being in a fiberglass cocoon. Prickly, itchy, hot and very uncomfortable.

But then Mom makes me cookies and pudding, and all is fine.

Arrival

We put down over 20 minutes early. Seems we had a brisk tail wind. Which is no surprise in a town known for the endless wind.

It's cool. And sunny. Unlike home.

I get to surprise Mom by coming up behind her- she was studying the arrivals.

She doesn't have to pay for parking- was only in the lot for 5 minutes.

We drive to the small, small town where she lives- according to 2000 census only 288 residents.

The town dog is lying in the middle of the street, per usual. He won't get up. He plays chicken with trucks on a daily basis and is a master of the game.

We wave at the town drunk, and continue on.

The ranch awaits. Where the deer and the antelope play in the field next to the house. And the neighbors gaze longingly at them- just wanting the chance to shoot to kill. But they are denied. It's considered quirky and not very nice to not allow hunting. But my parents don't care. They deny away.

Soon we will patrol the outer perimeter- we do this every evening I am there. Looking for weed growth, fence holes, and any other disorder. They have made what looks like paradise in the middle of no where. Paradise where I would go quickly insane.

On the plane

Flying to MT I was on the plane with a small girl. She sat a couple of seats in front of me. To distract her from the general boredom, her mother asked her to sing. She complied.

We will, we will Rock YOU
We will, we will Rock YOU

This went on for a while. She was probably about 3. Then she sang another song.

Don't stop believin'
Hold on to the feelin'
Streetlights, people
Don't stop believin'
Hold on
Streetlights, people

This was followed by a rousing Twinkle Twinkle little star.

And I knew that I was home. The land of 80's butt rock.

The desired result

No real stress. No computers. Very little phone interaction- told them I was unable to receive signal- which proved a lie, but whatever.

No time schedule. No need to get rolling and out the door. Just leisure. And mom made pudding. Just like when I was little. And saw dad. And saw others whom I love.

And there were wild kitties, deer, sunshine, walks in fields far from home, singing children on the plane, members of the National Guard and Air Force returning home, cowboys, grandmas and other assorted influences.

But the desired result- complete shut down, didn't really happen. Because the nightmare- the yellow LED lights, followed me. Even there.

MILF for a day

Seems that the Mother's home town is a tad light on eligible ladyfolks. Seems that when the girl from Seattle rolls into town, she becomes the newest shiny thing on the block. Seems that she's like cat nip to lonely rancher types.

Seems that the ring on her finger, the age under the belt, the pounds earned since high school and the general unsuitableness of her character to the place just don't register.

Goddamn that was depressing.

But not too.

And no, I know I'm not really a MILF. Just about that age group, so I'll use the designation for now. And my mother was shocked, shocked, I tell you, when I explained why I was laughing so hard when I remembered it. Because the rebel in me made me tell her. Bweeheeeeheee.

All right, all right. Enough of the silliness. And enough of the doldrums. There's work to be done.
Not the paying kind, true enough. There's that too- but that wasn't what I was talking about.

Two nights ago I slammed out a chapter. In the book. Or what is posing as a book right now. It got me thinking again. And that was a relief- because when I lose track of that effort, I get scared. Like it'll never come back. Like I'll lose the story.

So it came back. And the cool thing is that I have the weekend off starting tomorrow, and I'll have some time to make it happen again. If it's still there. I suspect that it is.

But conversely- I won't be posting until mid next week. I go where the buffalo roam. And the deer and the antelope play- but with cars on the highway, with predictably unhappy results for all parties involved.

See hotwire has cheap flights. And an escape was necessary. I only wish I could drag the boy along- he needs an escape too. Only he gets a different one- one from me (bwahahahahaha).

Adios amigos and amigas- enjoy Cinco de Mayo, and think happy thoughts! Or not- drink and be miserable if you prefer. I'm not the mommy. Be back soon!

sometimes even I get tired of myself.

This is squirrel tv. The kitties spend many anxious moments waiting for us to get out of bed in the morning and produce peanuts to turn on squirrel tv. The squirrel in the photo is named Simone. She was initially Sartre, but then we saw the nipples- and realized that she is a mommy squirrel. So she really needs the peanuts.

And I gotta say, once and for all time- that big DELETE BLOG button is so damned tempting some times.

So my mother's newish hobby of genealogy has hit a wall. Seems that too many of our illustrious forbears are not so illustrious after all. They remain anonymous, faceless, and traceless. She's giving up.

What's important about that for me isn't the revelation that my ancestors were no doubt peasant farmers who didn't accomplish much. It's that there is ever any real illusion that the majority of humanity falls into that category. My great-grandfather was mayor of a small MT town. Long before I was born. The only people who remember this are either family members, old timers (who are quickly leaving the table, so to speak) and historians of the obscure and not horribly important. No doubt he was important to those who knew him. Otherwise, not so much.

It's just like that. The dead leave, and all that is left are our memories, no? Ditto ourselves. Nothing left. But what we did to others. Those summer days stored in my memory, along with the good dinners, great sex, happy birthdays, favorite toys, rainy roadtrips, et. al. all go to the grave with me. Because no one else has them stored in quite the same sequence. And human memory is so notoriously quirky, after all.

So those people who are untrackable- the distant ones. They shared the same individuality, and no doubt many of the same feelings. All gone. All lost. And really, that's ok. Because I don't suppose history, despite the scholastic zeal of the deconstructionalists, can be composed of the teeming anonymous masses. There is no distinctly heard voice from all of that. Nothing that can be clearly transcribed. And overwhelmingly, nothing important. Because it's all the same striving. Nothing unique. Been there. And it's not all that depressing, when you think about it. Because it's just not lonely being anonymous- it's actually very normal.

Angst might not be in order- because see, there's really nothing to see here. Move along folks.

Now really, if that were true, I wouldn't be here. Because overall the point of this little exercise is to draw attention to myself. Look at what I can do! I can string words together in a somewhat interesting and fun way! How cool is that!

I can't stand on my head. Can't do a cartwheel- never could. Can't do anything that's really all that interesting. But I can tell stories. Sometimes. And I can make words come out. Like most people.

So probably not compelling. But like almost every other closet narcissist out there, I insist on thinking of myself as unique and interesting. Uncommonly interesting. It's just that simple, really.

Also, this is one hell of a lot cheaper to come by than therapy, and keeps the bad dreams at bay. Most of the time, that is.

I do have to say that there are days though, where I wish I didn't keep it under wraps- and could unleash the venom that I maintain inside in secret and closely held ponds. It doesn't go anywhere- just pools in the pancreas. Or some other mysterious organ- maybe the spleen. Some part that doesn't have a clear excuse for being in my body. I imagine the pools being relatively shallow, but very still. And very bad for me to keep in there. But the resultant shit storm of letting it all out is beyond what I want to cope with. So there it is. Like I said elsewhere today, blood makes noise. And I can't really hear you in the thickening of fear.

I know I promised angst. But don't have any on offer today. Come back tomorrow.

Landscaping tip of the week

If you live in Washington, where everything grows like bloody weeks, including the weeds, do NOT, I must repeat, do NOT cultivate ivy. It is evil. It contains pockets of true evil. It kills trees, shrubs, flowers- it smothers, eats away and destroys.

Ivy is a very bad thing. The only thing worse is blackberry bushes. They are beyond evil. Much like Dick Cheney is beyond the president on the evil scale. I think it's the brambles. And the general woodiness of the plant. But evil nevertheless.

We are attempting to save numerous trees in our yard from years of neglect. They were overgrown by the ivy. Blackberries were starting to grow. We got a lot done, but got tired, and had to quit after several hours. It was very hard work, and no doubt the landlord will protest. He probably thinks the ivy is good ground cover. I'll have to do some explaining about landscaping 101. Weeds = bad. Ridding yourself of weeds = good. But seeing how he planted the place in the first place just illustrates that he knows nothing about the old gardening.

And now that I've bored my regular readership silly, back to the scheduled dose of daily angst.

What the hell really matters right now? Nothing important. Seriously.
It's all just droning on. Same old same old same old.
Makes me just want to crawl back in bed and start the same day over.
Because in this movie, I am played by Bill Murray, and there are no
Andie McDowells. Kbot is a contender, but he has the same repetitive
pattern, so not the same. Different movie. Different day. But not really.

So, I'll get ready for work. Same. Then I'll go there and park in the same area- so I can actually find my car- not like it's the same- wrong make and model- too low rent.
So then I'll hit the elevator with a revolving cast of the same people- all arriving at the same
time. Then I'll plug in the computer, log in, and cast the net wide. Then I'll get coffee. Same people in the kitchen. Same coffee. Same walk back, avoiding running into people in the blind corners.
Then the rest remains the same, with slight modifications. A millimeter here. A millimeter there. Same results in the wind tunnel. Same results in Qualifying. Never on pole position. But always in the top 10. How does it feel to remain in mid-field? The same.

All through the night I enjoyed vivid and inexplicable dreams.
They just kept coming. Nonstop action in the cranium.
If there were a way to film it, I could replay it for you, and watch
the boredom glaze your eyes.
Because obviously you would miss the references and cues.
You wouldn't sense the ominous or the evil.
You might enjoy the bright colors and the action.
But otherwise it might resemble any other Bruce Willis movie-
without the saving grace of Samuel L. and Jeremy Irons.

Good question- why are all of these desperately unhappy people lashing out in violent ways? Didn't they used to just jump off of bridges? Or walk into the wilderness and not come back? Or drink themselves to death? Or quietly live lives of anguish- punishing their unfortunate families for the pain?

Yeah. Weren't those the good old days.

Still. Seems like a tidal change. Suddenly they lash out. Were they there all along, and something societal kept them under wraps? Or did they all view Taxi Driver and become liberated? Was it in the music? The water? The television? The internet?

Or is it that we are getting worse and worse at dealing with them in a constructive way and defusing the bomb, so to speak? Should we blame ourselves? Should we blame them? Should we blame God? Hello God, what the hell, dude?

There's your Sunday morning conundrum. Brought to you by events beyond my control.

Yesterday was...

Hooky. With permission. And free tickets to a Mariner's game.

Baseball is fucking boring. Boring. I kept losing track of what I was supposed to be watching. And I wasn't even drunk. I kept cheering for the wrong team. Because I was confused. Because I wasn't paying attention. It was worse than math class in grade school.

But it was sunny. And there were circling birds overhead. And a breeze from the Sound. And Ichiro in center field doing his little upstaging warm up moves. I explained to Kbot what he was doing out there, and it was funny. Old theater trick- keep moving during the action, and you'll draw the audience's attention. Thus his constant state of activity. And his distinctive pants in socks thing- only one on the field. So you can spot him. Very nice.

But still, without the g forces, cornering, traction control, race gas, road race action, it's just not...compelling. But it was sunny. And the tickets were very, very good.

All right, darling one.

I thought about our conversation all night. And think that first, just breathe. Because that is important. He is nice. But probably not the one. Ditto the other one. 2 years in is about the time things get winky when they're not right. And that's normal.

Did I ever tell you about my 24th birthday? I spent the day crying. Because I was scared, alone and very, very unhappy. I had just kicked G. out after 4 years of not so greatness. I didn't know where I was going. I was out of money. I was just so unhappy. I don't think I've been that sad since.

So the point of that- well- you're of that age. When all becomes either determined or not. And the not isn't a negative thing- just another set of choices. In many ways, probably a braver and more challenging set of choices. Ultimately, you are on the track to figuring yourself out. If you succeed (and by that I mean get at least a partial handle on yourself- because more than that isn't possible, in my view), you'll have more to offer. To anyone else and to yourself. Because the goal at hand, again in my opinion, is to get as comfortable as possible in your own skin. I know people who have done this. I love them. They are my beacons of hope on bad days. They give me the confidence to know that it can be achieved. They aren't blissfully happy all the time. Only an idiot or a delusional would be that. But they have what so many lack- perspective. They understand how very temporary sadness can be. And that often it's a choice. They have the ability to spin. On a dime. And re-assess.

Now I'm really going to date myself. When I was little there was a song on the radio. My mother loved it, and sang along. I know the words too. Because I have that kind of memory, remember.

When I was just a little girl
I asked my mother, what will I be
Will I be pretty, will I be rich
Here's what she said to me.

Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours, to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.

When I was young, I fell in love
I asked my sweetheart what lies ahead
Will we have rainbows, day after day
Here's what my sweetheart said.

Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours, to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.

Now I have children of my own
They ask their mother, what will I be
Will I be handsome, will I be rich
I tell them tenderly.

Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours, to see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.

The song makes me cry. Because I remember the little girl. And I remember the mother. And I remember the uncertainty. And I remember the hope. And I remember it all...and it's not bad now. It's very good. But the path here was sometimes hard. Harder than I care to relate. But it was all worth it. All of it.

"How the hell do you know that?"

"Seminar class, back in the day."

"Jesus Christ. Amazing."

"Whatever. Takes up too much real estate. Can't clean house up there and
get rid of the out of date crap."

"The fucking Peace of Westphalia. Where is Westphalia?"

"Do you really want to know, or are you just getting off on watching the parlor
tricks?"

"Right."

"Right."

Weekend update

Just quick. Because work awaits. And I didn't fix everything before I left for the weekend. And I didn't fire up the computer all weekend. Because I am attempting to curb the addiction.

Saw Modest Mouse last night. Too late getting home. Too tired today. But overall fine. Crappy sound tech. They need to hire someone. Muddy. Garbled. Poorly mixed. But overall fine.

Hurt my tooth. Smacked it good. It was loose in the head. Scared me. I have a thing about my teeth. Cut my hand cooking a few minutes later. Much ado. Much blood. I think I'll live.

Went to an art opening. Saw some good stuff. Bought a couple of small pieces. 1) it was nice to show interest in art again, after all of these bitter years. 2) it is nice to have some disposable income to buy art. The show was for a friend. She was happy. Shy and drunk.

Went to a work related party and networked my ass off. Because it might work. Being out there and recognized. If nothing else, it might help get the job if this one doesn't happen. All contingencies planned out. Because that is what keeps me awake at night.

Didn't do much else. Just that. And the finger hurts now, and seems to be bleeding again. Fuckity fuck fuck. Better go get another bandaid, before coating the keyboard with blood. It would be nasty to catch the kitties licking the keyboard- all purring and happy about the snack Mommy left behind.....

Weighing in

Not like anyone really wants my opinion on this, but I feel compelled. And why the hell not? After all, I am the boss hereabouts.

So. About this Don Imus thing. Contemptible man. I have that total Jimmy the Greek feeling. If you don't remember old Jimmy, go to Wikepedia and look him up. I don't feel like rehashing. Nevertheless. Don Imus. Fucking idiot.
I was listening to a pundit on NPR discussing the cultural issues- and he made a comment about the free ride given by rap artists who speak about the ladies like that. And he said that it's a shame. I agree. But I would take this exception to his argument. Imus is different from the rappers in one HUGE area. He attacked, in a nasty and evil spirited way, a group of women- individuals. He called them ugly. He was just rude. Not that that is unusual. But he finally got called out for it. Because the times, they are definitely sensitive. And skins just aren't as thick as they needed to be and generally were back in the day. And this is probably for the better in some ways, and for the worse in others. But I digress.
Rappers are offensive. But they don't usually target specific individuals for their poison. Unless you're talking about Marshall Mathers. But then it's mainly his wife/ex-wife/wife/ex-wife...and she's fair game- he probably knows what he's talking about. I just think that the argument lumping them all together has some pretty apparent holes when pulled apart.
And I feel like arguing, for some reason. Maybe that should be a new Friday feature. Argument Fridays. Sounds like a real hootenanny.
I just wonder what some of the other countries think about the kerfluffle about this event. Just out of curiosity. Betcha Britain is bewildered. Seems to me that those kinds of things get said over there with some frequency. I dunno though. Probably talking out of my ass again- that's another feature on Friday. Maybe. Ass talking Fridays. That's an attractive visual. And with that, I have to go. Try the veal. We'll be here all week.

What keeps me busy lately

Besides work, and my active social life (snort)- would be tv. And besides tv, would be the writing project I put down earlier this year. Seems that the book I was writing had already been written. By someone else. Not identical, but close enough that I thought it prudent to start over. Only 50+ pages in. And some is reusable.

So there it sat. Until about 2 weeks ago, when I had a revelation while waking up on Sunday morning. And the whole thing has been percolating since. Even have a name for the main character- which hadn't occurred before. So maybe this is the one. The story. That's been waiting to be told. By me. No one else.

I have hope. For now. In a week when I've read the book written by someone else, that'll be over.

Yesterday's news

We went to Tulip land (Mt. Vernon) yesterday while everyone else was at church.

We saw flowers.

We left before they all got there.

Then it rained. Very hard.

Belated wishes

Because of that eternal demon, sloth, I didn't post yesterday, as I had intended.

Courtesy of Jacob- who gave us this idea:

Belated Happy Zombie Jesus Day!!!

(think about it if it's not immediately obvious. Then thank Jacob. Because he is brilliant.)

Brains.....

Pleasure and pain, it's a gravy train

F1 weekend. Tea Ceremony class. Lunch with friends. Evening by the lake. Nice new ice cream flavor. Care package from Mom- including black licorice.

Job insecurity. Re-org. Exercise induced asthma. Not enough time to do things that I want to do- at least not well. Feeling like a cloddish Gaijin. Knowing that I am a cloddish Gaijin. Keeping too many secrets. Telling too many lies.

Two paths went into the woods. And I, well I took them both. Because if the woods are figurative, then the laws of physics don't apply. Fuck you Robert Frost.

By now I've figured it out

They just don't want to hear about it. So keep your mouth shut. Please the people. Because otherwise they'll tune out. And ignore you. Which hurts. So please the people. Be funny. They like that. Be nice. They like that. Only be sarcastic sometimes. Because they like that. Keep your problems to yourself. Because Mama says. No one wants to hear about your problems. They want to tell you theirs. Over and over. Unresolved. Continual. And you can see the patterns emerging. But they are blind to those. Just on the treadmill. You see the endless pattern. And know with that sinking feeling that will lead to depression if you let it that inside you have your own endless pattern. But you can't see that. Too close, out of focus. Keep it to yourself, though. Because Mama says that no one wants to hear about your problems.

Be funny. They like that.

Saddest gladdest

Saddest thing of the day=

At the Dr.'s office, witnessing a batshit retarded girl singing a song about blood antibodies (impressed with her vocabulary, yes), and the pledge of allegiance- onward and upward, endless looping in of her own private Idahoan language- kept up the babble long after I left the room- kept a steady gaze on the magazine in my lap- because crazy is contagious- and she placed extra magazines on the table next to me in an attempt to gain attention- and I squirmed inside- ashamed of ignoring her, but afraid of engaging her. Not wanting to get involved.

Gladdest thing of the day= wine + sunshine after work. No more, no less. Kitties were enjoying squirrel tv out the back window, and I sat. And did resolutely nothing. For a while.

With all of this comes all of that

With all of the nostalgia running through my veins, I need to step away. Away from the discs of family photos. Because if I don't they will consume me.

Let me explain. I was an odd child- bet that's a major revelation!

I would spend hours at my grandmother's house going through her jewelry box, asking what things were, and where they came from. At my other grandmother's house, it was the photo albums, jewelry box, and curio cabinet. I know all the stories. More than my mother. Possibly more than my father. About the things. Always the things. And the photos. Always the photos. Who they are. Where it was. The weather.

Sadly I was too young to ask a few questions that have come up since then- like why are there no pictures of my grandparent's wedding? Why no pictures of my grandmother pregnant? (she did have several of these occurances) These events in this particular instance appear to have happened in a void. Among endless photo static. Very odd. Perhaps those photos did exist, and in her endless scrapbooking, she discarded them as unflattering. But I don't think so. I remember going through these photos when they were in boxes, loose. And prior to editing. And there was nothing. In drastic contrast to the other grandparents. Who documented the wedding and pregnancies, and childhoods of the kids, but not themselves later on. Those pictures come from a different, more difficult source. And I have them too. The negatives. The scans. I am the conduit. I share, of course- because I am like that. But I don't even need to see the scans to be reminded. They all exist- and I go through the shots one by one. And it eats me alive if I let it.

So I shan't. Time to dive into something else for the day. Bait and switch. It actually works sometimes. Distract myself with bright shiny things. And let the slide show return later.

Just to be fair

This is my other grandmother. In my favorite picture of her. I don't own the picture (just a scan), but I do own the dresser. I think of her every time I see it.

I promised

here is Grandma when she was 5. On Lake Washington.

This is the coolest picture I own. I think it says more about her character than I can ever convey.

Easter dinner

Probably the scariest slide I've ever purchased in a thrift store...or maybe not.

Yes, I'm being intentionally coy. Seems I might have a few scary images up my sleeve- if I was wearing sleeves...bwahahahaha

Why I took today off

For once it's like this outside.

Took the day off

And the scariest thing of all is how desperate I am to go onto the network and check my work email. Because I fear what will be in there tomorrow when I return. But I am trying to control the anxiety. What disturbs me is that I have every appearance of being an addict. I am jonesing to get back into the system. First thing in the morning, I usually check in and see what happened over night. Because I am part of the legion who never sleep. And then I proceed to put out fires. And then I proceed to shut down, get dressed and go to work. Then I spend the day putting out fires. And then I monitor at night if I know that something important is going on. Which seems to be daily now.

So it's a big deal to me to not look. To not participate. I had to tell people yesterday that I wasn't going to be there today to carry on. And it wasn't easy. I kept trying to justify in my mind "just doing that one little thing"...But the sickness, though it appears blood borne, hasn't taken full control. I haven't done it. I haven't touched the work computer. It sits downstairs on the table balefully glowering at me. Chock full of little time bombs awaiting my attention. And there it is.

God, I love feeling so...necessary. And I need to stop it. Because it ends in June. And that is that.

Most meaningless and incomplete list ever

This is by request, and kind of under duress- because it goes against the rules. But I want to be entertaining, and respond to my readership.

Sharkjumping in progress!

Guess what I'm listing:

1. 2 Russian nesting dolls
2. 1 Japanese round doll whose eye you fill in when you want a wish to come true- color in the second when you get the wish.
3. an elephant piggy bank that I got on a roadtrip when I was 3
4. an ostrich egg that sits on a latchhook rug my sister Kim made me
5. wood boxes containing 7 different tarot decks
6. 2 HotWheels F1 2006 racing car 1:14 models (Ferrari and Renault, if you must know) and their accompanying F1 team hats (only to be worn during races, as appropriate)
7. a little Kawasaki Ninja model (not mine)
8. a little UPS truck model (mine)
9. a picture of my grandmother taken when she was 5 on Lake Washington in 1927- seen from behind (might have to scan and post- it's excellent)
10. Glittery Las Vegas dice clock that a dear friend gave me
11. 2 Enid Collins purses from the 60's (flower basket and wooden Kit Kat Klub)
12. 2 wooden elk calls that were in my Grandfather's house
13. a wooden box with Elsa the cat's ashes in it
14. a basket of rocks- shiny ones my Grandfather cut and polished, and non-shiny ones that I found at Hope Creek on the Continental Divide
15. a ceramic flamingo from the 40s (ticky tacky, the way we like it sometimes)


There. And the answer? Well. It is all the assorted crap that lives with my books on the book shelves to the right of the computer desk. Some is very personal. Some is stupid. Some is just there. But most means something. Welcome to my cluttered corner of the universe, shark jumpers, UNITE!

Why I haven't been writing as much- again

I am in the midst of an existential crisis on the blogworld, of sorts. Seems that I am in my opinion re-hashing the same damned content. Over and over. And it is starting to get to me.

Kboy likens my blogging to a cheap kind of therapy, and says that it's really cool. Probably because it means that I'm covering this stuff without having to re-hash it with him ...again...and again... The poor boy has been through it all. We've had 15 years now to go over it.

Nevertheless, I bore myself sometimes. And feel totally self-indulgent. And not in a good new pair of shoes kind of way. More in a -crap I am being a total bore- way. But part of me is so stubborn that I will no doubt persist. But consider this, fair reader, I might be throwing something different out there. Just because the narrative of my internal life/strife just isn't all that interesting, even to me after a while. And because I feel like I might start stagnating creatively if I don't push the envelope a tad.

The primary worry is that I am doing this rather than writing something more important. But since this keeps me in the flow, and I don't have anything more important looming in my life, it's something that I choose to ignore for now.

So there it is.

Heavy sigh...

I've been following the Attorney General kerfluffle lately. Rather than write, I know, I know. Bad girl. Just not been as inspired as usual- more to follow on that...

But what makes me shake my head in absolute confusion and a touch of derision is that the administration obviously never learned one of the key lessons of teenagehood.

Lesson: When you get caught, just fess up and take the punishment. It'll only be far, far worse if you try to cover your ass and keep it under wraps.

I guess I have my rather stern-on-occasion father to thank for getting that one through my silly little teenaged skull. Seriously. When he busted me, and if I tried to squirm out of it, he would shout, (think tones of extreme exasperation) "Just listen to what I am saying, and don't argue! You'll be in much better shape!" Frustrating for me, because there's nothing I love more than a good argument. But the idea of shutting up and taking the lumps isn't a bad one. It tends to give satisfaction to the authority figure, and even though it can really be a pisser, it does tend to make the incident go away faster.

That's the lesson that I don't think those geniuses ever got handed to them. Guess they had the wrong daddy. If for example, they had tried for transparency in the first place, it would've been a touch uncomfortable. But now that they have been shown to be lying through their silly teeth, they look not only foolish, but deceptive. And Congress and the press hate that. Not only that, but it gives the Dems something to chew on. And to act upon. Idjits.

Something in the water

From all appearances, cruelty comes easily and casually to some people. Just like picking out a pair of shoes. Just like breathing. Doesn't seem to require any effort whatsoever.

This makes me sad. Because the more of an asshole you are, the lonelier you will wind up being. Because not everyone is paid to put up with you, and generally people hate being around assholes. Just comes with the territory.

Yes, someone got under my skin today. Nothing personal, just business. Which is pure and unadulterated bullshit. The kind that is found in heaping, steaming mounds in the fields at home.

It's just always personal. Because when you shit on someone, and call it a constructive criticism, it's still shit. I don't play the emperor has no clothes game, because I'm not paid to. And see no advantage.

So there you have it. Crappy day. That's all.

Quick update

For those of you who come here for the new, just the news, minus the existential crises:

Kboy is not exactly loving the job. But the adjusting is well under way. He is liking the increased pay and the knowledge that he works with cool people. And he is enjoying learning about a new industry. But it's hard. Going from something beloved and familiar to something new and very, very different.

That said, he is no baby. He will prevail. And the world shall feel his wrath! Actually, that is a joke. He lacks wrath on most days. And then when he has wrath, it's just kind of irritable and cranky. He's just too damned nice and funny to be wrathful. I guess I handle that in our home. But only in short bursts. Takes too much energy to be wrathful long-term.

So there you have it. Slowly things are evolving. Just as they are supposed to. Because things are supposed to happen. Always. Nothing is static, no? All devolves/evolves/revolves.

Half life in amber

The feelings are still there- just nick the surface, and they pool out like warm blood
Days spent at home, nothing really to do.
Just sitting and reading.
Listening to albums.
Waiting.
For the mail to come- as the highlight of the day.
Because there might be letters. From someone for me.
I could then sit down and write back, right away.
Then re-read the letters. And place them in a box.
and Reread them some more.
so spending time.
And reading.
And re-reading.
And waiting.
And watching.
And wanting.
And needing.
And boredom.
And necessity.
All not really a life.
But part of a life.
Spent not really in the rest of life.
Outside of it.
Marginal.

At least the attempt is being made

Now before you get all harsh on me, just remember, I haven't devolved to the level of just putting a bunch of lists online. Things I hate. Things I love. Things I have never done, etc.

Just because I see that as the ultimate jumping the shark moment. And I don't want to do that quite yet. Surely it will happen. But hopefully in the blissfully distant future.

It has been a chore lately to get online and participate in my ongoing dialogue. Mainly because I have gotten sidetracked, and upstaged. I have also been coming down off of a 2 week adrenaline high that work inflicted on me. For the first weekend in a month I didn't bring home the computer. And I resolutely decided not to check my work email at all. And I'll just fucking live with the consequences.

Upshot- they really don't pay me to be that bloody vigilant. That's reserved for the FTEs (full time employees, to translate). And my time there grows ever shorter. And that's really ok. Because as much as I love what I'm doing, I can live without it. I did before. I drank the Koolaid, but haven't really gone all the way. Only to 3rd base. Is it really consummated without penetration? I didn't think so.

It's just a silly little dance. One step in that direction, deal with the resulting riposte. Then a firm step in another direction. No tentativeness required. Because they smell fear in the air. Then they bite, like feral little kitties. We don't need to enrage the machine. We don't need to put those ruby little drops of blood in the water. We don't want to see the shadows of the big fish with the bigger teeth circling overhead.

I just keep repeating, "there's no place like home," and clicking my ankles together. I lack sparkly shoes. I lack the requisite magic to make it all gel. I lack the hope and faith that keeps the dreams of LED lights that signify something perilous from taking over my sleep. Damned LED lights. The yellow one is particularly bad news. Don't ask, I can't tell.

Once again

I find myself
in that place
buzzing, but not completely drunk
not on life, but on the real meal deal
not bad, but not completely there
because the edge has worn off
breaking the cardinal rule I set for myself
no blogging live when in this state
leads to regrettable secrets being stated out loud
and once spoken can never be taken back
even if I delete, someone, somewhere has cached it
to trot out on future occasions
to discredit and condemn.
Because uber alles, life amongst the hopelessly
narcissistic means that it's always all about them.
and never about me.
ditto me, by the way.
Narcissism as a hobby or career path.
your call.
I don't get to vote on that.
I just live with the results,
which should be comfortable enough as a member
of the American electorate without enough
money to buy my vote any real impact.
But what I meant to say before I got all distracted
has been lost along the way.
As I struggle to hit the right keys and say the right things.
And as I figure out where the thoughts went to that
seemed so profound and important and special
like the 14 year old boy who discovers
Led Zeppelin when he gets high the first time
and has a religious revelation
that he never fully recovers from
Thank God that didn't happen to me until I was 28.
Because I don't need to stay in that place forever
and can see the hilarity of being a 14 year old boy
trapped momentarily in the body of a 28 year old
female.
And like I said before, in this game, I get to be
the queen of narcisissm land. For right now.
I'll forget it tomorrow- when the Petite Syrah has
left the building. Through the pipes. Literally and figuratively.
And .......scene.....

Just woke up

Took a long nap. Told the boss that I was going to enjoy the afternoon off (I had plenty of hours in from earlier this week). Instead I slept. Despite the sun. Despite the daylight. I slept. I dreamed.

Now I feel fuzzy and all warm. It's kind of nice. I have some of those folds on my skin from my clothes. I look creased.

It's all I think about some days. Sleeping. Just sleeping. All weekend long. All morning long. It takes me longer than ever to get out of bed in the morning. Where it used to take 10 minutes of NPR babble, it later took 19 (had to listen to the traffic report). Now that the traffic report doesn't matter, I still listen. And then some. We're at 29 minutes. And counting. Where it's going is a mystery. I still get there at exactly the same time. Give or take 5 minutes depending on if I catch the right light at the right time.

Distractions

Just a little distracted. Discovered the whole MySpace thingy. And found out that some time in the distant past (ie. I just don't remember when...not an unusual occurance) I had signed up for an account. So I cleaned it up, brushed it off, added some actual content, and opened shop.

Which means that I am now dealing with two problem children, rather than just one. So must divide and conquer, spit spot, and all of that.

Overall I must say I'm not impressed by the MySpace interface. From a professional standpoint. Not very helpful if you're an html idiot like I am. And certainly not cool to have that many ads on the home page. But it's free and we like free.

So right now, I am watching a flock of blackbirds on the wing- flying through and over the pine trees. They appear to be circling. The question arises- what would the Roman Augers predict? Especially in the shadow of the Ides of March? And with the sodden grey skies in the background, and the narrow glowing band of sunshine hitting the hills across from my window. It all bodes either ill or well. I'm neither Roman, nor am I an auger. Merely a dabbler in so many, many arenas.

And all I really want to do right this moment is crawl into bed with a book, nothing to distract me, and sleep to follow. All because the stupid clock changed, and my delicate constitution took a hit. Sleep is such a sore spot around here. If it's not ideas playing tag in the grey matter all night, it's too much coffee after 11:00 AM. Or then it's every other season. So there.

The long and short of it

I am making the gut-wrenching discovery that it's harder to blog, read, watch tv, and basically do all of the important life-affirming things that I enjoy when I work. But I have also discovered that I really like the money.

What to do? What to do?

Well, I guess that playing the lotto is an option. But getting 2 numbers didn't make big things happen. Bubkus. I guess that it's about the sacrifice. Somehow, I can delude myself into thinking that I am making the world a better place by putting on a tremendous show of being a worker ant extrordinaire. All the while seething inside, just wanting to sit in front of the computer and type. And read, and watch the tv.

Kboy asked my last night why he can't just be happy and work. Why he has to examine things, and find the broken parts and fix them. I concur. And postulate that it's because we are both craftspeople. We want things to be both workable and intact. Whether we're discussing a motorcycle, or a system of delivery, or an interface. It should work and be intact. Otherwise it's a broken piece of shit taking up real estate.

I have become an expert in logistics at work. I know where things are, how to get them from a to b, and many of the details in between. This does not, however, translate to job security past June. Which both alarms and comforts me in equal measure. Would I stay? Hell yes, if offered a significant raise. Would I go? Probably will have to, so no real question there. Besides, that is entirely what I expect. Part of the whole hubris-killing experience of having this particular job has been the day to day hammering into me that my particular job isn't very important in the grand scheme of things. Despite practical examples to the contrary. But there you go. That's a whole political issue that I personally have no desire to play. Suffice it to say, they will miss me. Or someone in my capacity who knows what the fuck to do, and where to find the best places to bury the bodies, so to speak. Luck with that, I say.

Kboy and his job, you ask? Fine. Just adjusting. Lots of differences, no real roadmap of how to cope with all of the changes. But overall positive. Haven't really had a good opportunity to really discuss it with him. Just giving him space to process. Surprisingly enough, we don't actually talk all the time. It can be kind of quiet. But in a very nice way.

Meanwhile back at the farm...

While some spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on Star Wars cloaks, and others buy fake limbs for the underprivileged, the world continues to spin.

On and on.

There you have it. Very few certainties, though. Only these:

Romanian wine is surprisingly tasty. Last night I polished off half of a bottle of Feteasca Neagra '99 that I saw at the store. Oddly metallic smell. But lovely to drink. It kind of snuck up on me while I babysat my email, and watched a movie. There you have it. I'll be trying many other Baltic vintages now. Because there seems to be quite a representative population of people with heavily accented voices, large bags of potatoes, cabbages and onions in their shopping carts, and multiple bottles of hooch with Cyrillic script on the label peering out around the starchy things. Ah, for the romance of the vast Steppes...

And then there's the movie. Kboy bought Stranger than Fiction, and we watched it last night. Reminded me in feel of both I Heart Huckabees and The Royal Tennenbaums. Would make a good little film festival grouped together.

And that's all. Just kind of checking in- more to get back into the habit of writing than anything else.

Gotta go watch the emails, and drink some more wine. Tasty, indeed. According to the email that my mother sent me (she's been spamming the shit out of me all week...sigh...she's my mom), there's probably either nicotine or MSG in it to make it addictive. No? Right. It's WINE. Thus it doesn't need anything else to be addictive. Duly noted.

New Things to report

Kboy has a job. He was hired at a place that he interviewed with several months ago. These things apparently take time.

He is going to make more than he asked for- which means they want him. And that's good.

We went to a charity auction last night and spent big money. But without remorse. Because we will enable people to be much healthier.

It was www.pofsea.org. We love them. I was involved a bit in helping put it together. It was good. Seeing all the rich folks throwing their money out there. But more than that, it was bloody hilarious seeing the Alpha dogs battling it out over some of the auctioned items. $5000 for dinner at this one dude's house...well, then. $3000 for a partial case of wine. Well then. Ah- to have that kind of cash to throw out there...

But we agreed- for birthdays, we will get each other one nice smallish present, and then donate something largish to a charity. Because it's time to quit acquiring crap that we will have to move someday, and we see that it can actually make a difference. Christmas now, all bets are off. I still want Christmas presents. Because I'm not a fucking saint, or anything.

It was cool though- because during one part of the dinner there was one of those hold your cards up if you can donate the following amount kinds of things- like at the Academy's last year. And they raised over $100K during that part alone.

And the food was good. And the wine flowed freely for most of the evening.

And today the sun is out, and I can see the mountains from my window.

And the Chinese temple down the street is having some kind of New Year's festival. I suspect that 's what it is. I haven't gotten dressed yet and gone to investigate. But that's on the agenda. If I can rouse myself...

The flu

Laying there with the wheels spinning, only they don't touch the ground.
Fixating on yet another thing that can't be fixed.
Or even touched.
It's all the same.
Shudders and sighs.
Not caused by anything exciting, just a virus.
In the system.
Then there's the heaviness in the lungs.
Like running uphill, only without legs.
And still the wheels on the bus go round and round.
Today it's problems at work.
Then it's on to problems in the past.
Boys.
Then parents.
Then back to boys.
Then back to parents and further back.
Finally, in a desperate bid for sleep, fixate on something good.

Early morning in the station- Grandma is brewing coffee and cooking scrambled eggs. I am sleepy. Grandpa has already opened for business. Sunlight streams through the screen door that divides public and private- when night comes, the heavy metal door will be shut, and we will be sealed inside. It is warm. There is soft butter in a bowl on the counter. This is where I would live, if my life were like "Groundhog Day," and if I had a choice.

Then I sleep. The sleep of the just, perhaps. The sleep of the innocent, not likely. The sleep of the dead, not yet- but sleeping with the dead, surely. Because they gave me those moments. And I keep them.

And sweet Jebus

I just don't want this blog to become a celebration of testes.

So, don't make me go there, people!!! Because I can, and I will if I have to.

Don't make me turn this car around!

No dessert for you, mister.

Damn- I really have to lay off the coffee.....

There are some wack jobs in the blog world

All chock full of venom and threats to shoot people's trucks. Because their prissy little sense of self-righteous perspective only allows for one opinion- their own.

That is the kind of thing that is total crap- and gets people in other countries killed- or imprisoned. There was an article last week that a blogger in Egypt got prison time for criticizing the President. There you have it. Someone took exception to their opinion, there aren't safeguards for free speech in place, and blammo- a poor schmuck who just likes to write and post his opinions is looking at 5 years. In an Egyptian Prison- betcha that's a hell hole.


Sigh. But that in a way is neither here nor there. The person who courageously remained anonymous in commenting on my last post got me thinking. About my right to say and think whatever the hell I want. They appear from their response to be the kind of bully who would resort to violence to make their point. Which makes their point just plain stupid and wrong.

I am therefore calling Anonymous out. Right the fuck now. This person thinks that it's ok to threaten to shoot a truck with truck balls, just to protect the delicate sensibilities of his/her no doubt surprisingly resilient granddaughters. Well then. That's not an overreaction. Not at all. Just like trying to pass legislature banning the damned things is not an overreaction. Not at all. It's comforting to know that a group of legislators thinks that this is the SINGLE most important thing to focus on while doing their jobs. And spending tax payers' money. Right. There aren't any other things that they ought to be doing. Just protecting us from the horrible sight of little balls hanging off of trucks. Well. I suppose I should be thankful. Because as a delicate flower of womanhood, someone needs to protect me from the cruel and unforgivingly vulgar world. However, I am a child of the 60s/70s, and not a Victorian maiden. (bet that's a surprise to those who know me!) And I resent the idea that there is something out there that I as an adult American should not be exposed to, because it offends someone else. Fuck that shit.

So. I have called Anonymous out. I now declare Shenanegans. I will watch porn if I want to. With my curtains open. So don't walk your grandkids by my house. It would be too educational. I will hang truck balls from my Outback if I want to. Or even better, from Kboy's Miata. And you will just have to fucking deal with it. Because that is the way it is, Grandpa/ma! I will also put chrome titty women on my car if I want. Because I can. And I know that it will likely piss someone off. And that appears to be kind of fun.

The gauntlet has been thrown. And for the record, I NEVER use the N word. Never have. Won't even type it. But my critic throws it out as equally as offensive as truck balls. I just don't know where to begin in slamming that little non-sequitur down. But I'll try. Because I have had coffee, and am ready to roll.

First and foremost, truck balls were never used as an object of opression and racial hatred. Truck balls were never used as an excuse to deny another human being their humanity or their rightful opportunities as human beings. Truck balls were never screamed threateningly at a person to elicit terror and keep someone in their place. Truck balls are inanimate objects, not hateful words. Truck balls aren't hate personified and focused on a group of people.

There. I feel much better now. If Anonymous decides to come back and play, I sincerely hope that he/she has the BALLS to use their real sign on name. Because it's fine to throw on a white sheet and try and scare someone. But it's really not the way to win a fair fight.

People who appear to have NOTHING to do

I just enjoy a funny tale of someone trying to inflict their offended sensibilities upon the rest of us. Like their experience of being insulted is in any way universal.

I found this story on msnbc.com

When fake bull testicles are outlawed ...

Bill would ban anatomically explicit vehicle decorations in Maryland

ANNAPOLIS, Md. - Fake bull testicles and other anatomically explicit vehicle decorations would be banned from Maryland roads under a bill pending in the state legislature.

The measure was filed in the General Assembly on Monday by Delegate LeRoy E. Myers Jr., who says children shouldn't be exposed to giant plastic gonads dangling from pickup truck trailer hitches. The bill also would ban displaying images of naked human breasts, buttocks or genitals, with offenses punishable by fines of up to $500.

"It's time to take a stand," Myers told The (Hagerstown) Herald-Mail.

The American Civil Liberties Union objected to Myers' bill.

"The legislation is overly broad, and would probably make it illegal to have a sticker on your car of the Venus de Milo from an art museum," ACLU of Maryland spokeswoman Meredith Curtis wrote in an e-mail.

Pamela Campbell, whose Bullhead City, Ariz., business sells fake bull testicles, suggested that the swinging decorations can prompt healthy discussions about anatomy and reproduction.

"Do we have to neuter all dogs that walk by us?" she asked. "Where does it stop?"

Last week, Arizona's legislature rejected a measure that would have banned vehicle splash guards bearing racist terms or silhouettes of naked women.

(All I gotta say is thank God for the ACLU- protecting my right to be offended by bumper tchotchkes!)

Ongoing travelogue

We had been on the road since early in the morning, but that was 2 1/2 states ago. It was late evening, and even in the summer in the north, the sun goes down. It was proceeding to do just that. On the two lane highway, the deer were approaching the edges of the road. The air was noticeably cooler, and the sky had deepened to a Maxfield Parrish blue. Stars would appear soon.

We topped a hill and saw the road stretched before us- going over another hill in the far distance. To our left were the shattered mountains of the Rocky Mountain Front. No cars on the road but us. Just nothing. If we had pulled over and shut the motor off, there would be only the sound of the wind. Nothing.

The only thing I could think of during the Shins concert last night was the roadtrip. And how much it reminded me of the music I was hearing. It would be amazing to drop the band and their gear (with generators, of course) and a couple dozen people in the middle of the landscape and just listen. With the mountains. And the isolation.

They were lovely. And since it was Kbot's birthday present, it was fitting. He likes them more than I do, but I still was happy. They reminded me upon reflection, of driftwood- soft and a little furry on the surface, but an interesting shape.

And that is probably the last time in a very long while that I go out on a school night. Rather tired today, and must get on with it.

Pondering some more

And being ponderous.

Well, mes amis, today it is a rainy Monday. And we celebrate dead presidents by buying sheets and towels. For sleeping and drying things. Something symbolic there, I guess.

So let's chat about death, shall we?

I have been thinking about it a lot lately. Not to worry- not something that I particularly crave. Just a shift in the tectonics of how I think about it. I blame Lance Armstrong.

See he was on the Colbert Report the other night. And I was listening to him talk about fighting cancer. And it started me thinking. About how futile in a way his fight (and mine back in the day) really was. Just because all it is was buying some time. That's all it ever is. Because no matter what, it's where we're all going. Very comforting thought that. No way to escape. Just let it roll. Doesn't have to happen today. Or tomorrow. Or next Tuesday. Just it will happen. And when it does, well, there you have it.

Makes me a bit nervous thinking about the end of what I know of as me. That the consciousness that I depend upon to get me through the day will be over, and something unknown happens. But there again, nothing that I can do about it. No way. Even Mr. Richy McRichRich himself, Bill Gates will die some day. It just happens like that. So.

No, I don't welcome the green darkness and the weight of lungs filling with fluid and stopping. I don't welcome the end of my selfness. I don't welcome the replay of all my past. Especially not that. I do that often enough that it's not only regrettable, but not necessarily comfortable. I welcome none of it yet. Probably never will. But just the realization makes a difference.

Damn. I guess this means I'm not 21 any more. Shit.

Things that keep me awake nights

I'll say it up front- sometimes I am a dumbass. Just lying there, pondering things. Things that make no sense, and that don't matter in the least.

Big one from last night- why does a certain kind of guy think that once they have fucked you, your IQ drops through the floor? Or did they always think you were an idiot, and faked thinking you were smart to get you in bed? Assholes. (this pertains to events in the far distant past- don't worry!) And really, the bitterness has lifted. Just a few blips here and there.

Another one from last night- is Tenacious D just irony personified? Do they really believe in what they do, or is it all one big tongue in cheek experiment in crowd control? It was lovely to be at a show where the entire audience sang along. Seriously. And they were filming it. So I am hoping that a DVD is in the future- filmed here, of course. Do they just love being silly, or do they take themselves more seriously than that? I just can't read it.

And then- will the little boy I saw yesterday on a walk with his dad remember the sunny day? He was about 4, walking along the road below our house with his sunglasses on. He was happy. He made eye contact with me while I drove slowly past, and we shared a smile. His dad was really attentive to whatever they were discussing. It was important to both of them. Will this last? Will he remember the day? I kind of hope not. I hope that this is a common enough occurance in their lives that it doesn't stand out as anything particularly unique. Just that they often went on walks together in the sunshine.

Messed up.

From MSNBC this morning:


Man's body found in front of TV year after death
Television was still on, authorities say; body partially mummified

HAMPTON BAYS, N.Y. - The partially mummified body of a man dead for more than a year has been found in a chair in front of his television, which was still on, authorities said.

Vincenzo Ricardo, 70, apparently died of natural causes, said Dr. Stuart Dawson, Suffolk County’s deputy chief medical examiner.

Police found Ricardo’s body this week when they investigated a report of burst pipes.

The home’s dry air had preserved his features, morgue assistant Jeff Bacchus said.

“You could see his face. He still had hair on his head,” Bacchus said.

Ricardo’s wife died years ago, and he lived alone, Dawson said.

“He hasn’t been heard from in over a year. That’s the part that baffles me,” he said. “Nobody sounded the alarm.”

Neighbors said they had thought Ricardo was in a hospital or nursing home.

“We never thought to check on him,” said neighbor Diane Devon.

Some Friday night

After a hectic week, there's nothing quite so grand as going to a live show. And almost falling asleep during the opening act. Quite seriously. Yawning, putting head on Kbot's shoulder, and struggling to keep awake. Luckily there were friends there who kept me awake.

But then it begins. The inexplicably entertaining Tenacious D show. Their second encore presentation of a cover of "Pinball Wizard" was appropriate. It was a rock opera. Scripted, acted and all. Funny as hell. I couldn't tell where the irony began and ended. And that was ok. Because Jack Black is a round, hairy elf. With a guitar. And Kyle Gass is bald. And funny. And a damned good guitarist.

Otherwise, nothing going on. But that was enough.

And after a troubled night, what's best?

I would say recognition that nothing has miraculously changed. All remains the same. Now some would say that it is more of a relief to wake up and have it all have been a bad dream. I would call them cowards. I don't mind bad reality, because I am the Eternal Optimist that you love to hate. Glass is certainly half full. My mother raised me this way. She gave me the pep talk when I called her from the parking lot at work yesterday. Things always work out for the best. These things happen for a reason.

Actually that is true in a way. Both Kboy and I are very relieved that the owners of the company, hereafter called TC, chose to finally put it out of its misery. They have poured enough soul into it. I am very fond of them, and hate to see the mad scramble continue. They will be fine. So will we. Kboy has had 2 interviews at very good companies where he has an in (in each- one actually very powerful), and stands a good chance of getting employed again soon- just needs to keep panic at bay, not go batshit, and position himself properly. Luckily for him, I am connected to some of the most business-savvy people in the world (no lie- these are The Pros- hereafter referred to as TPs), and they are all pulling for him. Pity he's not in my business- he would be bloody brilliant. But for him it would be a slow and painful death. By inches. And we can't possibly have that.

It was just one of those restless nights, where I was far too keyed up to sleep, despite the lingering effects of the headache. And the deep desire to sleep. Just kept reading my book, and finally slept. But fitfully. Because I kept starting awake with the realization that things have really changed. And at night keeping the fear and anxiety under control requires the strength of ten men. Or something mythic like that.

Anyway, all is reasonably well. And I have to go to work. And Kboy gets to go and play. After making a few calls.

Bootsbaby has a headache

And it's not going away any time soon.

And Kboy just lost his job. No shit.

Good thing there are prospects on the immediate horizon, and that he saw the blow coming. Just sucks though. The entire business closed shop, down the crapper. What kills me a little bit inside is that I spent 2 years there too. Blood of my blood, in a way. We all tried very hard. And saying goodbye is harder than I thought the second time around.

There you have it. Monday in hell. Welcome. Just take your shoes off at the door- we have beige carpets.

I believe that hell is all beige. Because beige isn't a real color.

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.