Possibly the most apt description ever

Published January 11, 2016 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

CNN will only let me listen to five minutes of breaking news at a time.

After that I have to log in with my television provider.  I’m pretty sure they won’t accept Netflix and Hulu as an answer.  Am I not entitled to news?  I could go on a big scary rant right now, but I don’t really care that much,because I know that if something truly important happens, someone will alert me.

RIP, David Bowie.

So, as per usual, I am left to get my news online from various news sources. I regularly consult MSN, Huffington Post, Cracked, The-Line-Up, and Feedly, and then I do my own gleaning and processing.

Buzzfeed has an interesting article/commentary about 2015 being the hottest year on record Here’s the link.  It goes a long way towards explaining how and why forests are bursting into flame and why we spent a balmy Christmas.

One direct quote resonated with me “Normal is a moving target.”

That actually is a good way to describe many of my days.  (My Amanda Friend helped define my life and personality the other day when I mentioned that I am practically a cartoon. She commented, “Reinflating after an anvil falls on you.” )

I don’t have an average day. Even when I was teaching full-time, average was difficulty to grasp.  Today, I made a list of goals. I find the word “goals” is less threatening than the phrase “to-do”. “To-Do” looks like it’s bossing me around and I just don’t need that kind of pressure, especially not from a piece of paper. My computer screen and Weight Watchers tracker are already giving me the fish-eye.  I have no idea why; I am certainly working hard in both areas.

I have the list and I have met three of the seven goals. I’m not quite at the mid-day crash.  But I am confident that it will happen (It’s not on the list; it’s expected.  I am not going to start an “expectations” list because I do not want a nervous breakdown. )

I create weird around me.  After forty-six years, I am at the point of grim acceptance.

Case in point: I went to the dealership to pick my the plates and registration for my new Kia. (!) I was told to just pull into the service bay and that someone would put the plates on my car. I told the service people what I was there for and that I had to go inside to actually sign for the plates. I stopped off in the Ladies Room (long drive, too much coffee.) And so I didn’t pop immediately back out to the car.  I heard someone announce:

“Who left their Soul in the service bay?”

This was before noon.

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