So the sun is shining here for about the 3rd day in a row. It's hard to know how to process all of this vitamin D. It's hard to take for granted that it'll be sufficiently light outside tomorrow. And maybe even the next day.

So this place might possibly be getting to me.

Back home there are fires. I watch from afar, with concern, online. The ranch is close to one. They are too old to make a last stand in the yard with mudflaps attached to a stick. They are too old to really deal with packing the truck and the Forester with their favorite things and running. They are too old for this shit, period.

The fires are supposed to burn until September. Then it will snow.

That's where I am supposed to be. The place where I suffer from a sinus infection from the smoke all summer. The place where my lips crack within 24 hours of re-entry from the lack of humidity. The place where they are. The place where my worry lives.

Adventure

Yesterday we went to the newly re-opened Seattle Art Musee. It wasn't quite what I expected. And we agreed- it still isn't as good as the Phoenix Art Musee. And no where near LACMA. But there you have it.

I saw some good things. A bust by Houdoin was particularly great- of his 4 year old daughter. Truly wonderful. Even captured the shadow of her dimple. There was a model of his Voltaire in the Phoenix museum. Loved it too.

And the Boy finally got to see in person my abject and total fear of African art. Masks in particular. Ditto Polynesian masks. And most Native American masks. Total gut churning fear. Cannot stand to be in the room. Must escape from the eyes.

Why, you ask? Well, mainly because they are so damned chock full o hoodoo. And I don't think they belong in museums being stared at by me. They had a different purpose, and really are too chock full of hoodoo to piss off. Bad, bad karma to touch them. Even worse to own them.

And there you have it. One of my very few, but sometimes awkward little superstitions. I felt like apologizing to the masks when I entered the room. But there were people around, and I didn't want security to escort the crazy chick out of the building. I think that The Boy thought it was funny.

But I'm sayin- bad, bad hoodoo. Gak.

Then I came home and took a nap. As advertised previously.

Not up for anything too tricksy today- need more coffee and perhaps an early afternoon nap first. But since it is SUNDAY, SUNDAY, SUNDAY, that might happen.

All right then. After last night's adventurous runoff of the mouth and mind, I am a bit at a loss. How to follow up a feat like that?

Well, with the fall back and punt option of a list, of course!

Sunday morning list:

Things I want to learn (or re-learn) how to do before I grow up and die:

1. blow glass.

2. ride a motorcycle (since there are 3 in the garage, this really should happen)

3. find my foreign language synapses, dust off the Russian part, and re-learn the language

4. I want to make a good- or even great- Creme Brulee

5. I want to learn how to get fancy with Powerpoint- not because it's cool, but because I see others around me doing it, and think I can do better (spirit of competition, and all that)

6. I would love to learn how to cut and polish gems. Don't know how to start finding classes for that kind of thing, though.

7. I would like to learn more about birds. I bought a book recently.


And there you have it. Unfinished business. Plenty of it achievable. Plenty of it not.

Time for coffee.

Now I seem to remember a self-imposed rule back a while ago- no blogging whilst under the influence.

Well, I am ignoring that rule. Just because I feel the need to type. And take my time reading through the typos- fixing as I go along, because I am not Courtney Love, and do not need to look like a total idiot on my own blog (check it out- was in MSNBC's Scoop last week- sad state of affairs, as per usual when discussing old Court.)

And while I am feeling all fancy and high-handed, I'm here to tell you something. But I'm just not totally clear on what it is. Which bloody well figures. Typical. Now there's a story.

I got shitcanned from a job. And replaced by the fucking Canadian. Who was a total bait and switch- appeared to be perfect for the job, but in reality was a total basket case- and I saw through it immediately. Because mine eyes have seen the glory, etc. Seriously, though- she was a wreck.

So she took my job and ran it into the ground (by that time I was onto bigger and somewhat better things- with a full assortment of bitter little feelings- which I still carry around and treasure- to be trotted out when I have a belly full of microbrew- hey! Like now!!!)

She was writing copy for a company brochure- because for some absolutely inexplicable reason, the boss wanted to re-brand the company every three fucking months- new logo, new tag line, new everything- fuck the cost- it was ridiculous. And so blasted wasteful.

So there was a brochure. And it was a mess. Graphically and otherwise. If you know the designer, please don't pass this along- I do like him, it just wasn't his finest hour. And I have no doubt it was because he got no help from above- as per usual at that place.

I digress. Of course. Blame the beer and the fucking Canadian. (to quote South Park, "Deer daking der derbs" watch the episode re. aliens taking jobs, to get the insight there if you give a shit.) OK. So she was writing copy.

Primest and most quotable to this day quote-

"Typically, redacted company name is anything but typical."

I shit you not. Goork. And not in a good way.

So The Boy and I tend to quote that pithy little abortifant phrase whenever we use the word typical.

Did I say before that he went to Atlanta with the fucking Canadian? Well he did. Lucky him. He did bring me back a tshirt from Coca Cola. Because he loves me and not the fucking Canadian. She took my job, but not my man. Or my dignity. Goork.

Whatever. I am sure that when I review this whilst sober, I will cringe. Indeed.

Now we're cooking with gas

What's funny- despite not having endless free time in my immediate future, I am getting so much more done. It's like that holding pattern was the abberation, and now that I'm back at work, doing something that I enjoy, I can remain charged up and moving when I am at home too. Being home alone just sucked the life and energy out of me. Things have changed in a year.

I don't know whether to be alarmed, saddened, or just accepting. I choose none of the above for right now.

And yes, it is calm before storm time at work, and the gentle ramp up is a true gift from my co-workers. Appreciated, believe me- since it wasn't that way last trip around. But still- it's all familiar, and good.

More than that, I just don't have right now. Gotta put the laundry in the dryer.

Preliminary stages

Yesterday was fine. Actually better than fine. As I propigate into the system and am enabled and enamored of doing more every day.

But today, well today, is something all together better, indeed. Because it is sunny. And because it is Thursday. And because so far things are going well, indeed. The dreams are at a minimum- I am sleeping well again, and the feared hummingbird period only lasted 2 days. It just isn't that unfamiliar after 3 weeks away. So life is moving on.

Interesting fact- my actual boss isn't even in the country until the end of August. So I really don't have a good idea of who I will be working for. That's still kind of a grey area. So ought to be interesting to find out what I will be doing for the next month. I have some ideas, and we'll see if they fly. And no, they do not involve sitting at home in my jammies huffing cookies while "working". Those days about drove me out of my skull. Though I have to admit the spot cleaning of the carpet was a good thing to have done. But no one can convince me that it was fun.

Current MySpace mood: Not enough coffee

So it has begun. My big career. They do roll it out though. 2 days of introductions to everything. Not like being a temp there at all- where they dump you behind a desk with a sketchy laptop and say, "figure it out chump." And I did. Which is probably why I am there today. And tomorrow. And the following day. Something to exhibit on my I love me wall- with the meaningless diplomas, and the picture of Oprah. Because when I start to rest on the laurels, they don't matter any more.

And hey, everyone, guess what! The dreams are starting up again. Last night's was particularly great- it included two glow in the dark floating heads, and my husband telling me that he doesn't particularly like me anymore. It was great. So that oughta be a pip.

Ah, but it's time to soldier on. Because the above is no doubt temporary, and if not, there are drugs that can help. Or at the very least some kind of substance.

And the sun is shining. It might break 75 today. Which is overall very springlike, no?

Spent the weekend reading Potter. Was up late last night finishing it.


Now for first day of work. Too sleepy for jitters.

Go see the rat movie. It is good.

More to follow...

Current weather outside.

And woke up in the middle of the night hearing coyotes howling in the neighborhood. I shit you not. The Boy heard them too. Thus proving that I wasn't dreaming. And that outdoor kitties have something to worry about hereabouts.

What we have here is a failure to communicate.

Pretty typical, no? How many songs, how many singers, how many roads does the man go down...all because of that communication dislocation. Or dislocution to be more accurate and to make up a new word.

So what's the bloody point? Shit, man, I don't know. Just saying stuff. Playing with words. Playing with works. Too much coffee, too little sleep, too much fucking time on my hands. (that wouldn't get FM radio play, now would it?)

And part of the daily whine- just don't leave me alone. But then when I'm not alone, I feel alone. Just part of the daily equipage. Like the wedding ring- that indicates that these boots aren't made for walking- they are made for making my legs look longer. And indicates that loyalties are not to be divided or conquered.

My current MySpace mood- wondering if it's too early to start drinking Hutterite wine. As it's only 9:00 am, probably. But cannot deny the mood. Never was a sucker for Irish coffee- too much family history there. And gets me all stubborn to prove the naysayers wrong- all that sitting duck prophecizing and all- not interested in following anyone down any bloody primrose path. Just want to blaze my own. And hope that it's a happy one. But not guaranteeing anything.

Major events today: 14th Anniversary. Of the blessed event. Me, with the worst haircut of my life. Made my head look like an egg. The Boy, ditto the worst haircut ever. Made him look 12 and mentally challenged. Me, a total wreck, expecting the family to implode, my head to explode, and feeling ugly with the worst haircut ever. But with comfortable footwear, because that is important.

Other event today: going to the bank to deposit second to last Unemployment check. Because lately, any reason to leave the house and actually speak to people face-to-face, not cheek-to-cheek is an event. Gotta get cat food, and drop by the dry cleaners, as well- if you must know.

But in the meantime, there's the whole communication thingy that distracts me. Because no matter how many words I write, it appears that somewhere a few go awry, and don't connect to the proper circuitry of others. And this worries me. Unduly, no doubt. But I always want to be understood. And accepted. And liked. And part of me hates that kind of thing. The vulnerability thing. Makes my teeth go all on edge and grate together- and my jaw ache. Because it's being clenched so hard...

and now enough of this. Time for distraction.

And finally

This is what I live with daily. This little beast and his brothers. Only in this picture he's not following me from room to room screaming. Oh no. That's not in this picture.

What IS in this picture is the hideous red that is our kitchen. Yes. It IS that red. All over. And it looks not exactly fabulous. It's a rental.

Just for larfs

Here's a treat. Seattle man who should really re-think the whole low-rise pants on bike thingy. Mainly because now we ALL know what kind of knickers he wears. And in the rain, those knickers will be inevitably covered in muddy skid marks.

Ah so the decision has been made then. So there. No input from me necessary. As per usual. It always seems like that- there is a ride, and I'm along for it. No need to concern myself. Just jam.

Or gel. Or something like that.

But the insides get in such a bunch that way- I want to be deciding. I want to be involved. I want to be a girl of action. Or an action figure. Or something like that. But don't have the necessary password to get into the tree house.

And the phone still doesn't ring. And the answers still don't come. So I am left to assume that the decision has been made. Start the Revolution Without Me. (movie made me bust a gut when I was little- very disappointing when I was big)

So now the challenge- accept, move on, and don't let it drive my ass crazy. Because it is like this some times. Inaction being the challenge. Inability to do diddly squat to change things being the challenge. Waiting it out being the challenge. When all I want to do is something. Anything but sit here and wait and type and think and ponder and look at stuff on the web. It's a half-life I don't want. Anyways. I think it's time to go to look busy.

The dash is in pretty cherry shape for a girl of a certain age.

Now if we can fix the leak in the sun roof, it'll be a true accomplishment. That will be the first cosmetic thing to tackle. Timing and carbs are tonight's project.

Car Story

For some reason, I feel compelled to provide back story for the car.

She belonged to my Step-father- a retired cattle rancher. Odd choice for a ranch, yes. But perfect for him. He purchased it in the early 80's from the original owner- a rich Californian lady. Then he drove it with love. He tells a story about rodding the piss out of it to prove a point- there were 2 Cadillacs racing down the highway- dragging. And he threaded the needle with the old girl- pegging out over 120 mph. Saw them hit the brakes as he rushed by betwixt and between.

All I can say about that is I am glad my mother wasn't in the car. He would've been grounded, car keys removed from his possession, and tv dinners for a week, at least.

The car became the Boy's about 6 years ago, as a surprise Christmas/Birthday gift. It was decided when they sold the ranch in Helena and moved north. No place for a car like that in the new digs. The Boy has spent some time getting her up to snuff, but there is more to do. Because she is a legacy car. A Car Baby. Every home should have one. Mine is in a warehouse moldering. Because I can't convince the powers that be to turn her over to me. Probably never will. Sad. But such is the way of the world. Not everything is happy.

But this story is. And the best part- the wonderful Step-Father loves black licorice too.

Just cuz I feel like adding another picture. This is where I go when I'm off the grid.

Do you get it now?

I thought so.

Now just hear the breath in your lungs, the wind in the grass, the powerline's hum, and nothing much else.

What I'm not going to write about-

The thing on my mind the most. Not going to do it. Because I just won't. What I am going to do is try and change the channel. It's the hardest game in town. Because it always has been.

Totally conditioned to watch the program through to the end. Always have been. I think it's genetic. Used to cause marital woes. When it wasn't understood that just because I can't change the channel mid stream, and can't look away until it's over, doesn't mean I don't love you. Means. that I am messed up in the wiring diagram. Check it out sometime. There are a few fuses blown, and then there were some winky re-wiring efforts to compensate. Then there were a few wires that got snapped that one time. Then there were some more amateur electronic play by plays. And then.

So. That thing- the one I won't write about... it's still there. Front and center. But not gonna do it. Gonna keep playing the skirt the issue and avoid the flack jacket. Not in the mood to watch the bomb's early glare. Not enough coffee in the blood. Never enough coffee in the blood. And then.

So. Did you hear the one about... And another wiring problem- can't remember jokes. Not to save my life. Or harden my arteries. Can't do it. Not the good ones. Not the bad ones. Not any ones. Just unable. Can still remember all the words to Journey's ouvre, but not any jokes in there rattling around. Can still remember Juliet's soliloquy from Drama Club Freshman year in High School. But no jokes need apply. They get sent straight to the recycle bin. The words will be re-used somewhere else. Just nowhere funny. And then.

And here is the ass end of my car in Choteau, MT- where there are cement dinosaurs. And an Ice Cream Parlor. This is about 10 miles from the ROCK SHOP.

The Rock Shop, by the way, is owned by the woman who first discovered a clutch of dinosaur eggs back in the 30's. She took Harvard to court to get her fossils returned when they misinterpreted the meaning of the word "loan". She's 94 and still runs the shop.

Here she is, the old girl who still has some life left in her. The Boy has a bunch of plans for her. Starting with her carbs and timing.

I can look out the window from right here, where I type, and see her in the driveway. She's wonderful.