If I hadn't done so many hours of work beforehand and then so many hours of work afterwards, I might have enough remaining brain cells to question the wisdom of taking the children apple-picking and then returning home to allow them a dinner of copious amounts of bacon drowning in artificial maple syrup and garnished with french toast. But I did so I don't. Instead, all I have is this: 1) Work. Hard. Tired. 2) Mmmm... hog fat. 3) Pie or crisp?
The flip side of being easily irritated (what? what?? you have some sort of problem with that???) is that I am often also very easily amused. To wit: This morning on the way to school, Monkey announced that he had a VERY FUNNY JOKE to tell me. This always fills me with great joy, which--when it comes to my kids sharing their "funny" jokes--sometimes feels an awful lot like that feeling you get right before you barf, when you know it's going to happen and there's nothing you can do to stop it. Anyway, I gripped the steering wheel a little harder and said, "Great, go ahead, honey." "Okay!"...
I'm pleased to report that with the expert assistance of a friend, my new computer is now fully operational. This morning I dove under my desk and first chiselled away at the drifts of dust bunnies, then started untangling cords and unhooking the limping dinosaur that was my former computer. First I removed the old monitor and CPU, then I just started unhooking cords randomly because there seemed to be lots of things just plugged in and laying around. The new machine claimed to be "plug and play," and it was, sort of. We plugged it in, and it turned on. Then there was just the little matter...
I used to be a champion grudge-holder. Really first-rate. It took little to draw my ire and--once provoked--that was pretty much it. Oh, sure... I might, for some reason or other, act as if I'd forgotten whatever perceived transgression had occurred. But I never did. It was always there. It takes a lot of energy, being that angry all the time. The irony, of course, is that now that I don't do that anymore, I joke about the kinds of things I used to genuinely feel, because I realize it was extreme and I think it's funny. And the sort of people I used to detest take it as truth rather than...
Dogs: obeying, yet gaseous. Floors: mostly dry. Ant baits: not tasty doggie treats. "Where's your CHICKEN?!": rapidly replacing "I bite you!" as favorite child-phrase to the dogs. Barbecue: 1) at someone else's house, 2) foodtastic, 3) pool, pinata and bouncy house included, 4) yes I DO like pina coladas. Shoulders: burnt. Kids: exhausted; see also, sleeping. Saturday night: ponderous and melancholy.
Gah. I started this whole thing about people feeling the need to be pointedly hateful and blah blah blah and you know what? No. I'm saddened when I'm misinterpreted, especially by people who lack information and, it would seem, enough happiness to keep themselves occupied. But as someone was kind enough to point out to me, they have to live with themselves forever. And I don't. So! I may in fact be the anti-christ according to something like .1% of my readership, but I will continue to do what I damn well please (maybe twice as much! so there!) because there's just no pleasing some people....
Welcome to the third and final chapter in this series. After tonight, I'll have nothing left to confess for a while. I think. I still can't remember where Jimmy Hoffa is, but that could change after a few more treatments. *twitch* So. If you read Chapter 1, you know that I'm often plagued by a variety of guilt-inducing concerns, both large and small. And if you read Chapter 2, you know that some of my recent wallowing had to do with being unlucky in love. It stands to reason that Chapter 3 be the crowning glory in a series of regrets, no? I don't think this will disappoint. But how, you ask,...
Now that I've gotten the minutiae out into the open, I think I may be ready to handle some of the bigger stuff. Here I am, about to do what I do--which is, apparently, overshare, without enough censoring. If you'd like to play your part, after I do so you will stomp on my heart and tell me it's my fault for being too honest! Oh, but I'm getting ahead of myself. Also, now I have this whole new strategy where the heart-stomping won't happen any more, on account of I no longer give a damn. That comes later, too, but I'm very proud of my new outlook. You'll see. But to start: Hi, my name is Mir,...
I've realized over the course of the last few weeks that there are a number of things I want to get off my chest. And you know, for SOME reason my therapist refuses to meet with me every single day. And so I turn to you, dear Internet, for my absolution needs. I think that's fair. What you need to understand about me is that I have perfected the art of guilt. Consider me a trifecta of self-condemnation: I'm female (lord knows there was never a man who felt badly about anything that didn't result in physical pain), I was raised Jewish (need I say more?), and I'm a mother (two kids = four...