Hello! I am pleased to report that I am still here, and still cranky. Maybe I am not pleased to be cranky, I guess, but there you have it. A couple of nights ago, Otto and I had iteration number seven thousand or so of the conversation where he says he misses my writing, and I say that nothing interesting and/or suitable to tell the world about has happened because my life is actually super boring, and he says that's not true, and I tell him he's not the boss of me. (Being married to me is a treat, I am sure.) I thought about it and realized I actually have plenty of things to complain...
In the grand scheme of Big Life Problems, everything is fine. Let's start with that. Because I am about to launch into a carnival of bitchery and I KNOW someone will want to bright-side it somehow or say it could definitely be worse, and you know how I feel about Hardship Olympics. So. Is my family okay; is anything on fire? Yes, and no. But am I going to complain anyway? You betcha. Not in the mood for such? That's fine. Catch you next time when I'm back to being funny, I guess. Where to begin, where to begin? I think let's start with the timeline/history of my involvement with this local...
Long ago and far away, there was some debate as to whether our house contains a casino, and adorable little-kid word mix-ups aside, I think we determined that no, it does not. It never occurred to me that the day would come when I would also have to determine whether or not this here blog contains a casino, but apparently while I wasn't paying attention, that became a thing. Confused? I was, too. Allow me to explain. Sort of. You may have noticed (har har) that I don't write as much as I used to. My time and energy has turned more to other things, like sewing masks and dealing with people on...
Oh my goodness, it's been a week. Or two weeks. I'm not even sure. It all starts to blend together, you know? When last we spoke, I was enthusiastically embarking upon Project Rainbow, or---more specifically---the "simple" task of repainting the rockers from our front porch with some actual rainbows, and although it was slow going I knew I would triumph and be pleased. Well. At this point in time I definitely AM pleased, and one out of two isn't bad, right? I mean, look, they came out pretty okay: (That's not the front porch, by the way. That's the back porch, where I spent one gazillion...
February sucks. Everyone agrees that February sucks, yes? I am well aware of the February suckage, and so because I am a fairly self-aware and productive human who has been in therapy for most of her life (wheeeeee!), each and every February when things get hard I keep reminding myself: "February always sucks. This is normal. Just keep going, because this is a short month." That's good, right? I mean, I always feel really proud of myself while I'm doing that. No matter how long a person with depression deals with depression, one common feature of said depression (how many times can I say...
It's been a long summer. It's kind of continuing to be a long summer, for a billion reasons, and some of those reasons are boring and mundane, and others are heartbreaking and too hard to talk about, and still others just leave me feeling like a broken record. (Someday when we look back, will we refer to 2018 as The Year America Became A Flaming Dumpster Fire, or does that designation rightfully belong to 2016, with 2018 being more like The Year It Became Clear That Actually Women's Rights CAN Go Backwards or The Year We All Really Realized We Were Not Overreacting, Everything Truly Is...
Or, Snot: The Opera. Or, Tell Me Again Why I Thought I Liked Doing Theater? Or, My Children Moved Out And All I Got Was The Plague (Twice). Or, Someone Hates Me And It's Hurting My Delicate Feelings. Good morning! Gosh, this is early for me to be blogging. (As in, early in the day. I realize I disappeared for a month, again.) But WHY NOT, I say, because I am 1) awake and 2) far too cranky to do anything else. I've already gotten out of bed, made myself some tea, irrigated my nasal passages with saline (sexxxxxy), taken some of the good, meth-making kind of decongestant where you have to go...
Don't try to have a conversation with me this week. I will, at some point, mutter darkly about throwing away five pounds of PERFECTLY GOOD shrimp. It will not need to be relevant to the conversation for me to bring this up, either. I am bitter and it's stupid that I'm bitter and yet: five pounds of shrimp. It's become the focal point of every feeling I've had the past few months. But let's back up. When I last left off, we were mostly all about Monkey's immediate needs and making sure he was okay. It was all... well, it was a lot. Me imitating Oprah and randomly pointing and shouting "YOU...
Hey, remember last year, how the squirrels got into my tomatoes for the first time in forever, and I had unfairly blamed Licorice for a while before I figured it out, and then it became clear that the squirrels were just looking for water? Good times. And by "good," I of course mean "rage-inducing." By the end of the summer we'd already used up all of the tomato sauce I'd made, on account of having only made a few pitiful batches. Most of my tomatoes were stolen. Well. THIS YEAR would be different. Sure, it was dry out for a while, but then it rained for, like, a week straight. NO PROBLEM!...
