Years from now, if I get to survive to the years from now point in my own history, Easter 2013 will go down as to what I try to refer to lightly as the Great Ham Vs Turkey debate.
I am trying to focus on the food and other allegorical points in my family’s history, because, although my family gets major snaps for being supportive, they are not so good about not blowing a gasket when they read something they don’t like in a blog, article or Facebook post.
I have truly horrifying headache. I think it is the cumulative effort of my frustration with my slightly deaf GP and his less than on the ball staff, and the fact that I am still burping up my own rage (I choked on that last time, remember?) It’s Baby Mama meeting Big Mama weekend. I wish that was all I had to say about that, but it’s not. Part of what I have to say about that is that I do not at all understand how someone else’s mistake can rob me of my own family, and that it is entirely possible that I had a stroke so that I will know for sure that you don’t necessarily die when your life is yoinked out from under you. It’s confusing to me, too. I think the headache is brought about by the fact that all of this word vomit has been bubbling under the surface.
Venting prevents explosion
As you may be aware, The Kid goes to The New York Conservatory of Drama. He will be graduating this may (I know! ) and because I’m seriously bummed out today and I absolutely can’t say anything nice, about say, anything, because Katboy and his baby-mama are in TN right now meeting Big Mama and the rest of the family. There’s not anything at all I can say because really, what kind of pleasantries can someone exchange with the universe when such a series of events have blopped (that’s plopped on a blog) on to you?
Because I can’t say anything nice about my real life, I’m going to link to a few of The Kid’s projects. Check it out. The Kid; Dustin Kane Nolen.
And because I still need to supply The Kid with basic fuel, like Pizza and Poptarts, you should please check out my webpage again,or for the first time to hear him voice act on Chapter one of my novel Circumstance. And heck, if you have a book contract or possibly want to discuss his career or my career, or even know anyone who would want to do anything like, that please, please, please forward the information
Actor Boy, Dustin Kane Nolen
I have been asked a time or two what inspires me when I write. A lot of the time it’s guilt. I will actually talk to myself out loud to drag my carcass from one room to the next so that I will actually do something I truly enjoy. Then I feel guilty because I have a number of writing implements and heaps, literal heaps (Worst organized bookstore ever) of story starters and springboards. (yet I can rarely find a pen that has ink, go figure)
Today I have things that I want to write about, mostly because I’m kind of depressed and grim and a little more than angry, but because I am made of awesome, I’m not going to name any specific names or even events but there is a lot going on this week, not the least of which this wheezy cough that I can’t get rid of, even though I went to the doctor yesterday, I’m supposed to get a referral for a sleep study.
Today, I am inspired by choking on something other than my own rage.
It’s always the little things.
I don’t wake up in the morning looking for things to kvetch about, (nor do I wake up in the morning feeling like P-Diddy.) But there are days where there are so many things dropping a straw in my spokes, harshing my mellow or denting my psyche. As I told my friend Kyle, things are Rats-dancing- the-Mambo-Crazy (of course that’s crazy. Elephants are so much better at Latin Dancing.)
I took a big step today (most of my steps are tiny and made in hedgehog slippers- They’re fun because as I walk through the house I can say, “Hedgehog, hedgehog, whatcha gonna do, whatcha gonna do when they come for you?” Then I giggle because what’s not funny about some bad ass gangsta hedgehogs?)
I wore grown up clothes and real shoes and carried a nice purse to turn my application for a job that I think is the perfect job for me. (Once again, I don’t want to discuss details, don’t want to jinx it.) I had carefully applied makeup and understated jewelry. I even put the application in a nice folder to carry it over to the office. The folder tastefully complimented the ensemble.
The whole experience was anticlimactic.
I later discovered that my shirt was on inside out. No one noticed but me and I don’t blame the shirt.
So I am spinning around my hamster cage right now, (I have no idea why everything has a rodent theme.) and I am trying to stay awake because I have a fundraiser that I need to go by (go buy?) in a little while.
MSN Living has a run down of 20 things everyone should do, it is subtitled, a year of happiness.
I don’t think they know me. Or even know anyone like me. Or have ever met people with a moderate income and a good sense of safety and shame.
This part is my favorite
The turtle must be thinking, “Bitch Please.”
I have been a little shaky and distracted for the last few days. I think it may be delayed exhaustion from the trip, or it could be residual fall out from the startling realization that I may actually be the pawn between good and evil (I kid about it all the time, but it may be possible. I guess just like cleaning the cat pan, someone has to do it. Yes, I do feel as if I am wrangling cat turds for the universe. This has been your philosophy moment, brought to you by the good people at Tidy Cat.)
Anyway I had an odd experience yesterday, it wasn’t really a deja vu kind of feeling, or even a time weasel feeling. It was more of a I-think-I wandered-in-to-an-alternate-ending feeling. This made me wonder if this is the director’s cut and if it is, wouldn’t I be the director. No , not if I am the pawn between good and evil.
In other news, my job future seems to be coming together. There is a job opening (part-time) at the wonderful school where I sub. I think I would excel at this job, but I won’t mention specifics because I don’t want to jinx myself.
I also just negotiated a bid to ghost write a romance novella. It is for about 10,000 words less that what I did last year for the Omaha Steaks people. It is for the same amount of money in the same amount of time. I think I can do it.
It makes me tired and makes me wonder if I’m biting off more than I can chew. But what else is new? I have to keep the powers of evil and the time weasels wondering what my next move will be.
As I may have mentioned a million or so times, I watch entirely too much television. Garry Marshall has had an enormous impact on my subconscious.
Today’s news brings to mind an episode of Laverne and Shirley where the famous duo was fuming about something, I forget what. Shirley said, “I’m so mad, I could spit.” Then she said, “I think I will.” She turned and spit. Right on Laverne.
That’s the nicest way I can think to sum up how I feel about he media reaction to the Steubenville rape trial.
If you have no idea what I am talking about, here’s a link.
If you want to know why I am choking on my own rage, here’s another link
And it continues
And now Fox news managed to accidentally publish the name of the victim.
There are so many people I want to punch and smack and shove right now.
But I won’t. Because my parents and taught me how to behave myself and that I don’t have any special privileges when it comes to breaking the law and violating social contract and other people just because my community says I am entitled because of my achievements.
(Personally, I think it would be cool if I could get special privileges because I am a stroke survivor with two Master’s Degrees and no student loans who coached her protege into an exclusive conservatory program while coping with the death of a close friend and dealing with the fall out of her husband’s affair that is resulting in the birth of his son, which feels a little weird because the ship on my own biological offspring has sailed. I would love a special privilege, but I would never,ever take advantage of another human being. I mean special privilege like I get to go the head of the line at Starbucks from time to time. )
I had any kind of focus left.
I took a lot of notes and tried to organize my thoughts before I sat down to blog. I truly meant to write more while I was in France, but it really was a whirlwind of adventure.
Now I’m home and I have a bazillion things to do. (Especially since my luggage got to stay in Paris one extra day.)
What was nice (not Nice, since we didn’t get there.) was being invisible on purpose.
I don’t mean that I actually evaporated, leaving only a chic scarf and fun hat floating around in my coat. (That would be a neat trick, but with my luck, I bet I could only do it once.) I mean that I could be as inobtrusive as I wanted to be. Most of the time I chose not to be. As I got to the end of the trip, I kind of became a little bitter and resentful that I was so far below the radar.
Then I decided I didn’t care.
I have many, many stories to tell, and with luck I will get to them over the next few days. Meanwhile, I’m home.
I did get my wish (I can’t tell you what that particular wish is, of course, that’s against the wish rules. )