She figured that if anyone saw her like this, laying flat on her back on her bed, arms wide, hair spread, and staring at the ceiling-that she would look like a depressed person. But that wasn’t it. Today was one of the itchy days. She wore her life like a wool sweater–comfortably for long periods of time, interrupted by periods of intense itching and the desire to pull it over her head for awhile, She thought that the sweater analogy was horrible. It was just one of the nights that staring at the stucco on the ceiling is about the only thing she could possibly do that wouldn’t irritate her. So there she lay, an impotent thunderstorm, her pulse reminding her of a cursor.
I muttered, “damn straight” from the kitchen counter as i put my cream in my coffee Sunday morning. ‘Meet the Press’ was on in the background and General Wesley Clark (my personal pick for veep) had just mentioned something about how flying a fighter plane did not automatically make someone qualified for the presidency.
That Anderson Cooper was talking about this when I turned on the TV on Monday night completely baffled me. They’re spending 20 minutes on this one sentence? Was it a slow news day? Wondering If I was missing something and not getting why this was a big deal, I watched the “news” for a good 45 minutes. The spitting and cussing and “I don’t believe this shit”s came swiftly. Like a boat, I’d say my disgust came like a swift little boat. There was the Clark “story” and some shit about flag pins…and I waited…and i waited some more. In all this election “coverage” was there one mention of Obama or McCain’s policies? Anybody ask any experts about the impact of offshore drilling on gas prices (ahem..cough*none*cough) Econmic plans? Anything that would inform anyone about anything remotely related to, Oh, I dunno, RUNNING THE FUCKING COUNTRY?
No it was bullshit flag pins, patriotic tripe and the “scandalous” Clark remarks. No one was covering the election, they were all too busy watching the race and gaping like yokels at the barkers in front of the sideshow. “Step right up and take a look at this scandal, Obama didn’t put his hand on his heart ,Watch this amazing clip ladies, gentlemen and kids of all ages.. Don’t pay any attention to the policies behind that curtain, here’s James Carville arguing with Bennett, step right up and pay a penny for the cockfight. Here’s a Poll. step right up..”
Side note: Carville is slowly morphing into Voldemort.
This is how the ignorant remain that way and how idiots get elected by them. This is how an enthusiastic yell can ruin a primary race. This is how we got 8 years of The Moron. This is one of the reasons we suck.
The ability to read out loud does not automatically qualify someone to be a journalist same goes for fighter jets and the presidency. Get me outta here.
some shit out there is going retrograde
My fridge broke, I have dental work and an ob/gyn visit in the same week.
my kid’s sick
Shit’s hitting fans all around me
My work got a licensing inspection
i stood in line for an hour today so that i could become a bleedin’ soccer mom. i’m a soccer mom. i will be driving little people to soccer practice in my goddam minivan. my minivan with a broken tail light. (see below)
I killed my mother’s car by backing into it. they should not have given me a license. the woman came over to do me a favor and i hit her fucking car. killed the thing. this week sucks.
Every February I hate my job. It’s because of the winter. Every February I comb the want ads looking for greener grass. so now i hate my job and i want to tell everyone to go away and lee’me ‘lone. Managing people puts a tart new spin on S.A.D. A little SAD with a shot of vitriol on the side, please.
i heart february.
after the long weekend, when the next long one doesn’t come until may, the alarm rings on tuesday.
it’s single digits outside and the down that surrounds me is better than anything that’s out there. As i lie and hesitate, the phone rings.
child care provider is sick, I can’t go to work,
and here i sit in my pjs , smiling like a cat and get to have an extra day. kids are laughing in the background and coffee is near and I have a whole day of nothing in particular ahead. i love nothing in particular.
am i inherently lazy or is job that lackluster? hm
i’ll muse on that during my 3rd cup.
new blog, just felt the need for a clean slate. out with the old, blah blah
setting: saturday night, slight buzz from very cheap wine.10:00 pm, in bed, on laptop.
on the pod: random, now it’s waits on wmms “warm beer, cold women”
tried playing axis and allies, sat through everyone’s moves and quit before it was my turn. tom came on the ipod and i felt the need to surrender my little plastic men, log on and listen.
perhaps it’s the complaint of an old woman but, the value of a decade is declining:
they come cheaper and quicker. My children are as many years away from college as I am, and here i sit, same hair, same heart, same questions, different woman. it goes faster, the farther you go, doesn’t it? funny, is all. fast and funny. *shrug*
i’m letting it happen and i’m not sure how to stop it. I have one of those typically American jobs that require more than one can possibly do in a day, rushing, not eating lunch, not taking a break, staying late. I never really wanted that. isn’t me. i don’t like surrendering my headspace to my profession on my off time. I like my work, i just am not willing to live it.
to do, oh eight:
eat more fruits and veggies
enjoy the little people more
lower my voice
say “aye” instead of “yeah”
laugh and sweat daily
i had a whole plan of something to write when i came up here, the third glass of wine kicked in and suddenly the words are heavier and slower. i think i’m gonna log off. lay back and listen…there we go, like slipping into a warm bath.
happy new year
we’ll take a cup of kindess yet for auld lang syne.
Just do this for me: log onto itunes, type in “The story” by brandi carlile, purchase the song “The story” and listen to it. spend the 99 cents and listen. hurts so good. hell buy everyting by her, pour a drink and have a night of it. listening to her makes you miss being a mess.