world destruction


rat

I found this post title in my draft posts the other morning. I think my intention that late night back on July 3, was to write about my ratty who I had discovered dead at 3 a.m. when I got up to get a glass of juice.  Wonder what I thought I could write in my sleep walking state? Oh well… that shall remain a mystery. At any rate, as those 2 of you who read my drivel know, I have had two black hooded female rats for a couple of years. Delilah came first and then we decided she needed company and bought Baby. They have been delightful creatures but I have found them to be fairly high maintenance and somewhat demanding. They’re smart, so they need attention.  I am guessing since Baby died, Delilah will probably go soon since they were each other’s world. These will be the last rodents we will own. Ever. We have had white mice, hamsters, pygmy hamsters and now rats. They don’t live long and the cemetary plot is getting full.

Scout’s ashes came back in a sweet little wooden box. We put it by a photo of him and my daughter and put his purple collar over the picture frame. The loss of  Scout still looms on my psyche’s horizon. I never fully grieved his death. And now we have Willy. Crazy Willy. He’s like a giant Scout with brain damage. It all makes for some very weird feelings.  Developing affection for a new dog is not difficult for me, being an avid animal lover, but still I feel like I’m betraying Scout in some way.  It’s as if I took my emotions and stuffed them in a bag and then just tacked them onto Willy. Weird and disorienting on some level.

On other fronts, the train keeps barrelling down the crazytracks. I’ve decided to just start chasing butterflies and give up on worrying about anything.  Besides, I hear conflicting stories about the world ending or being beset by solar flaring in 2012 according to the Mayan calendar, so if I can just keep the bill collectors at bay for a few more years I should be set.

blizzard08001

The title is a lyric from a song I wrote about 13 years ago. It was another soggy, sad Christmas as I recall.

You say it’s snowing? How unusual. It’s been 25 days since I realized I’d just made one of the bigger mistakes of my life by taking the basement apartment of my “friend with benefits”.  Not anyone’s fault really. Just bad judgement all around. I discovered I’d been lying to myself for a long time about my ability to live in an open relationship.  So after three days of “living” there…. hah….. I packed up my kid and the bare necessities and I moved into my ex-husband’s house, which he shares with an unemployed girlfriend with serious drinking issues and her very cool 18 year old daughter.  What a happy little family we all were hunkered down together at the end of the world.  Much craziness ensued. I fell down the basement stairs there and have been ailing ever since. My whole body is wrecked. My face sustained no injuries but I still look like I’ve aged about 10 years in the past 3 weeks. Stress can do that to a person. And drinking, smoking and taking god knows what variety of sedatives.

I managed to find a pretty nice place and actually got moved (for the second time in two weeks) on day one of the great Seattle Snowlacost, thanks to the help of some brave friends who drove the U-Haul for me in the blizzard and ice.  I paid them for their work but probably not enough.

It’s been hard to think about it all, much less whine on the blog about it. Snowbound for a week with a broken ribcage and a broken spirit. Huh. Go figure. And I still find myself missing my friend. The definition of insanity according to Benjamin Franklin:  doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Insanity should be so simple. Insanity for Dummies.

I started this post days ago. It seems rather worthless.  Today, Sunday the 29th of December I am back at work and the sun is shining and the sky is blue.  I’m still injured but will address that tomorrow with further medical care.  As to my mental state, I have a plan.  And the plan includes stepping up, getting up, and stopping the madness.  Stopping all my bad habits. And taking the pain and facing it head on.  It will be hard. It will suck. But in the end I’m told it will be better. 

I’m thinking about our little microcosm here in Seattle and how we were all inconvenienced by the blizzard and food and gas running out due to said blizzard and I’m thinking about my nephew in Afghanistan who, on Christmas eve,  picked up the remains of his platoon leader and put them in a body bag and I’m thinking about the Palestinians who are being slaughtered as I type.  We gotta take the pain and face it head on.  It will be hard. It will suck. But all we have left is hope that in the end it will be better.

 Happy New Year.

I have nothing to say so I’m going away until I do. I’m pretty sure I’m in a depression. I’ve had bronchitis for a long time and I’m not getting a lot better. I can’t workout, don’t sleep too well, get tired really easily. All in all it’s a bit of a bummer. That and this goddamned Seattle weather… cold and rainy all the freaking time. It will pass and hopefully when it does I’ll have something to say and something to care about again. Here’s one little bit of hopeful news before I go: I talked to my 85 year old southern conservative (a/k/a a former racist, republican, southern baptist) mother today and she told me (again….it’s sticking!!!!) that she thinks Obama is the best of the 3 presidential hopefuls….. my god…..that is pretty amazing if you ask me…. cheers.

You’re 5 years old today. You’ve done some pretty cool stuff for such a young thing. And your daddy W and granddaddy Dick have done an amazing job of feeding you with the blood of thousands of innocent Iraqis, young American, British and other nameless countries’ soldiers, not to mention the trillions of dollars they’ve spent on you to make sure you can continue to trounce, stumble and cavort around over there, drunk from all the success. And you’re not done yet are you? Uncle McCain is gonna keep you in the money for maybe another hundred years. Cousins Blackwater and Halliburton luff ya so much baby, they’re crying tears of pure joy on your special day ….. Your godfather Osama is so proud he’s about to bust. I can just see him partying down over there in Pakistan like it’s 2099. The American Sheeple might seem a little sad to see you turn five – wasn’t it just yesterday you were a little tyke pulling down statues and looking for flowers along the road along the way from the airport to Baghdad ???  …… but don’t worry… they support you still. Because not to would be unpatriotic.  So….. happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, you look like a quagmire, and you smell like one too!!!!

Photo courtesy of Madame Galina’s Iraq Tour

 

The topic of the day. Let’s all say a few Hail Marys and begin shall we? First off, I’m really sad. Really really sad. I thought I had a handle on the relationship with the boy. Sadly, I think I have just been fooling myself. And making a fool of myself at the same time. Sad is a word I might tend to overuse in this post. I’ll try to think of synonyms like morose, bereaved, bitter, blue, cheerless, dejected, depressed, despairing, despondent, dismal, doleful, forlorn, grieved, heartbroken, heartsick, languishing, lugubrious, morbid, weeping, woebegone. And stuck in the pathetic fallacy.. okay that doesn’t really fit but I do like the way it sounds. And the pathetic fallacy is something I am totally into. 

I went to a party last night. A friend’s 50th birthday. He had rented a performance hall and had all his musician friends there playing. The group was a distinct split between middle aged men and 20 something goth boys and girls (birthday boy’s kids and their friends). First I wowed the middle aged men with my hilarious verbocity, my performance of my famous hit tune “Daddy Fucks Dobermans” and my dazzling good looks.  But then I found myself drawn to the 20 somethings with their purple hair, multiple piercings and tattoos.  The truth is I made an ass out of myself. As is often the case, when faced with a somewhat uncomfortable social situation I really crank up the “oh I’m so special” routine and unleash the ego into overdrive.  I gave the host a hug and left.

When I got home I called the boy about 50 times, after having called him about 50 times from the party where I was unceremoniously making a total fucking ass out of myself.  The boy was in a bar in a seedy part of town and not too thrilled with my idea of humor in calling him an asshole and having my new buddy at the party call him one too. But we were kidding.  Sorta. Anyway, after the additional calls made upon my return home, the boy relented and came over.  We listened to some Steven Wright and laughed but then the conversation turned to who he was doing the night before.  I realized I am right back in the same boat I was in back in October and that boat is a stinky, leaky piece of crap.  It’s dark, there are no oars, the engine’s blown, there is nothing but bleak echoing emptiness in that boat.  And a howling sea tosses it mercilessly against the rocky shore.

This story goes downhill from here so I think I’ll just stop while I’m ahead and say today I am at work and have to excuse myself from dealing with the public because if anyone even looks at me funny I am going to cry and vomit and fall on the floor flailing my limbs or clawing at my eyes……  it is that bad.

Cover reads: Featuring stories from Top Idols from every season – Carrie Underwood, Jordin Sparks, Ruben Studdard, Clay Aiken, BLAKE LEWIS, and many more!

Someone track this Jack Canfield down and stop him…… NOW!!!!

hey.. did we forget to revolt? This guy’s on the way out and it seems we have forgotten that he needs to be strung up, torn down, waterboarded, and sent to GITMO. He can afford to laugh, breathe a sigh of relief and hold hands with the Saudi princes, kings, terrorists…. the spotlight is off.

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