My friend Kate just had a beautiful baby boy, Isaac. Unfortunately, she's not doing so great - she's had 2 surgeries in the last few days and is fighting off a bacterial infection - so if you pray, PRAY for her.
Thanks.
UPDATE! Kate is much, much better than she was. I attribute it, with my typical obstinate mystic bent, to all the love and prayers she got from Internetland.
So really thank you again. Really.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Stuff That's Cracking Me Up Right Now...
1. Well, right off the bat, the fact that I accidentally hit 'Enter' after typing just two words, part of the title of this post: "Stuff That." Stuff what? Stuff it where? I AM AGOG. Where were you going with that, subconscious?
2. I made the colossal error of reading a blog that I usually forgo, and compounded my error by reading the comment section. MISTAKE. I read a commenter who used a tongue-in-cheek approach to her remarks; immediately, she was brought up short by The Queen Of Internet Etiquette and High Policeman Of What You're Allowed To Say In Comment Sections. I am both irritated and amused by this, because six months or a year ago I might have put on my High Dudgeon Hat and gotten involved. Now? I don't care. If you want to be a smarmy schmuck and police other people's blog comments, go right ahead. Just don't do it here, because my comments are moderated and if it shows up that means I KNOW it's there. KTHX.
3. YouTube. I can't tell you how overjoyed I was to stumble into the little corner of the Utubs I found tonight (and I'm not saying what it is, for fear it may offend); all I can add to that is that the comments were even purer comedy gold than any YouTube comments I've ever, ever seen before.
4. The fact that, when I went to go wake my guy up and roust him off the couch and into bed, the geeky boy said, "No, I've only got two hit points. Let me wait a while first." Dawwwwww... so CUTE.
Hokay, den.
And that is what is cracking me up right now the end.
2. I made the colossal error of reading a blog that I usually forgo, and compounded my error by reading the comment section. MISTAKE. I read a commenter who used a tongue-in-cheek approach to her remarks; immediately, she was brought up short by The Queen Of Internet Etiquette and High Policeman Of What You're Allowed To Say In Comment Sections. I am both irritated and amused by this, because six months or a year ago I might have put on my High Dudgeon Hat and gotten involved. Now? I don't care. If you want to be a smarmy schmuck and police other people's blog comments, go right ahead. Just don't do it here, because my comments are moderated and if it shows up that means I KNOW it's there. KTHX.
3. YouTube. I can't tell you how overjoyed I was to stumble into the little corner of the Utubs I found tonight (and I'm not saying what it is, for fear it may offend); all I can add to that is that the comments were even purer comedy gold than any YouTube comments I've ever, ever seen before.
4. The fact that, when I went to go wake my guy up and roust him off the couch and into bed, the geeky boy said, "No, I've only got two hit points. Let me wait a while first." Dawwwwww... so CUTE.
Hokay, den.
And that is what is cracking me up right now the end.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Crushed
Friends call on the phone; I don't answer. I hear the phone buzz - they've left me a voicemail - I don't listen.
People tromp up our stairs and knock; I sit in silence until they give up and leave.
I don't feel like being a person, being a friend, these days. I feel like sitting here in my quiet space and doing absolutely nothing. I feel like not being interfered with on my journey into a quiet place where nobody can make me do anything ever again.
Is this depression? It's hard to say. I'm too close to it to see it clearly. It could just be simple laziness.
I am lazy. My mother always said so, then my dad said so, then my mother-in-law said so. And you know? They were so right. I'm lazy. I don't like to clean things up. I don't like to wash the same dishes I just washed yesterday. I don't like to sweep and mop and dust and scrub and blah blah blah every single day of my life. It's boring. It's depressing. It's irritating.
I find myself in long diatribes on the inside of my head about how selfish and inconsiderate all the people who live with me are, how lame and rude they are for leaving all this crap all over the place and not rinsing a goddamn dish, for fuck's sake, not putting the toilet seat down, not cleaning the hair out of the drain, not caring that it's me doing the walking behind them and cleaning up their dish, their mess, their drain hair.
For a lazy person, this must be what Hell looks like, a hall stretching to Infinity, filled with doors, behind each of which lives a sink full of dishes and bathtubs clogged with slimy hair and filthy toilets waiting to be cleaned. And when you get done with one room, you turn around and find that all you've done is undone again a mere five minutes after you're finished.
If I knew what was wrong with me I'd fix it. But I don't. And sadly I think that it would be kind of like my vision of Hell anyway; I'd figure out what was wrong with me, fix it, and five minutes later I'd be back down in the dumps again.
And I'm too lazy to want to fix it anyhow.
Okay, that's my time. I'll be here to depress you all week. Be sure to tip your waitress.
People tromp up our stairs and knock; I sit in silence until they give up and leave.
I don't feel like being a person, being a friend, these days. I feel like sitting here in my quiet space and doing absolutely nothing. I feel like not being interfered with on my journey into a quiet place where nobody can make me do anything ever again.
Is this depression? It's hard to say. I'm too close to it to see it clearly. It could just be simple laziness.
I am lazy. My mother always said so, then my dad said so, then my mother-in-law said so. And you know? They were so right. I'm lazy. I don't like to clean things up. I don't like to wash the same dishes I just washed yesterday. I don't like to sweep and mop and dust and scrub and blah blah blah every single day of my life. It's boring. It's depressing. It's irritating.
I find myself in long diatribes on the inside of my head about how selfish and inconsiderate all the people who live with me are, how lame and rude they are for leaving all this crap all over the place and not rinsing a goddamn dish, for fuck's sake, not putting the toilet seat down, not cleaning the hair out of the drain, not caring that it's me doing the walking behind them and cleaning up their dish, their mess, their drain hair.
For a lazy person, this must be what Hell looks like, a hall stretching to Infinity, filled with doors, behind each of which lives a sink full of dishes and bathtubs clogged with slimy hair and filthy toilets waiting to be cleaned. And when you get done with one room, you turn around and find that all you've done is undone again a mere five minutes after you're finished.
If I knew what was wrong with me I'd fix it. But I don't. And sadly I think that it would be kind of like my vision of Hell anyway; I'd figure out what was wrong with me, fix it, and five minutes later I'd be back down in the dumps again.
And I'm too lazy to want to fix it anyhow.
Okay, that's my time. I'll be here to depress you all week. Be sure to tip your waitress.
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