Fresh, Hot Wastes of Time

I lie in my bed for nearly two hours this time before giving up. Wonder if maybe the sleeping pill fell out before I thought I swallowed it. Think about all manner of things. Past hurts, and how I developed defense mechanisms to keep them from happening again. What to do with this summer, which seems like it’s almost over already between the kids spending so long at Grandma’s house (they say they don’t want to come home, and cry if I suggest it) and the fact that school starts the second week of August. Is there time to do all the things that kids need to do?

• piano lessons
• swimming lessons
• dance lessons
• gymnastics lessons
• finally getting around to using the rock tumbler
• going camping
• going to the lake
• going to the ranch and fishing and looking at fireflies and stars and the moon
• going to play on the school playground
• setting up a wading pool to splash in the backyard
• going to the San Antonio Zoo
• taking a picnic, or dining al fresco on the porch while we barbecue
• playdates at the park
• going to see a movie

There are so many things to do and so little time to do them. Is there time to take a week off for Bulletfest? I don’t know if I can stand being away from the girls for so long, so soon after this visit away. Hub claims that the night they come home, we will all sleep together in the big bed.

There’s so much grownup stuff to do, too. Bulletfest. ARGFest NYC. Looking at land. Contemplating a career. Each day I rush through so I can do something else – wasn’t that a poem somewhere? I have too much to do. I don’t have time to be sidetracked with unkind words. Friendly ones, yes; not hateful ones. Decided long ago that life is simply too damned short to be unhappy, so if something’s making me unhappy, it is my responsibility to myself to move on. I have used up my unhappiness quotient for this lifetime. I hope.

I don’t want to be worrying about test results. It leads to the inevitable “Better think about doing it now, just in case…” and the “just in case” is said (in my mind) barely above a whisper, as if it can hear what is said about it.

Last night I dreamt about land again. I have a recurring dream about the land that I own. Sometimes it looks like the ranch. Sometimes it looks like nothing I have seen, but it is still familiar to me. The soil is dark and loamy. There are hills and hollows in the riverbottom. If you take that road to the right, you’ll come to the stock tank just past the hill. The entrance is down a long dirt road; the front field clear from brush and full of green grass and an occasional flower. There’s a drive down the road where you admire the field for a while before you get to the gate. Once in a while there’s a tree hanging over the fence. Last night we were driving through a slough full of snakes. I was not scared of them, in my dream. I was happy to be on my land.

I wonder, is this property out there somewhere waiting for me, as I have been waiting for it in the past couple of years of my dreams? And what on earth am I going to do if I am ever confronted with the land of my subconscious? Would it be a good thing or a bad thing to see it? Does it mean I will live there or die there? While I’m there, will I dream about some other piece of land?

If I find it, I might name it Through the Looking Glass. Or Brigadoon. Narnia? Avalon? A place which should not be, but is.

I just called the SC Johnson company about their Saran Premium Wrap to complain about the “Slide and Cut” bar which requires three hands to operate, unless you use your teeth. They’re sending me a coupon to try out the Saran Cling Plus Wrap which still has a nice analog metal cutting strip. That’s nice of them. I do wonder how much more the Cling Plus is than the Premium Wrap – is the Slide and Cut Bar a racket to make people hate it and move to the more expensive brand of wrap?

Hmm.

I’ve been using a Macintosh since 1985. I buy a new one about every 3 years. It’s an informed decision. All of my software is on the Mac OS. I don’t want to change platforms. It’s what I’ve been using for damn near 20 years, I’m comfortable with it, I’m good at it, and I like it. For some reason I get a nasty comment at least weekly from someone about my choice in computers; more often if I tell someone new what I use. Do I denigrate their machines? No. Do I take random potshots about their cars, clothing, grocery habits, music preferences? No. I try not to pick on anyone like that. In return I have to deal with the stupid (and these days usually uninformed) comments about my computer. Friends, family members, people off the street – they all seem to think that I am fair game to dole out a ration of shit to simply because they think their OS is superior to mine.

Are they more expensive? Yes. But I can afford it, and it’s what I want to buy. Do you pick on someone who drives a Mercedes because he could have driven a Honda instead? Probably not. So back off. There are several hundred reasons why I like my computer and prefer it over my Windows machine (I have one of those) and Linux machine (I have one of those too).

De gustibus non disputandum est. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. To each his own. There are so many cliched phrases to cover the situation. Here’s a non-cliched phrase – if you don’t want me acting like a snob about your shit, don’t act like a snob about mine. It’s hurtful.

I don’t care how cheesy you think it is. It’s one of my favorite movies of all time. I have two copies on DVD. I can quote it as it plays. I never tire of it. It always makes me cry. I wish they still played it 30 times a day during the season.

Nothing like having that special someone and that special coffee table.
What to get the single guy in your life for Christmas.

I’m sure you’ve heard this story by now – a Marine injured in battle tells the docs to cut off his finger rather than his wedding ring. They lose the ring anyway. If that were my husband I’d kick his ass. You can get another wedding ring. You can’t get another finger. What kind of crass consumerism does that denote? It’s the symbol of a marriage, not the marriage itself. It’s not sweet. It’s idiotic.

Ok, rant off.

Last night we went out for ice cream. I saw two high school girls walking up – I placed them as sophomores or juniors. One girl had on a pair of $140 jeans and a $125 track jacket and was clutching a $500 Louis Vuitton wallet. The other girl kept flaunting her $500 Louis Vuitton Speedy 25. And you know what? I got mad. Really mad. What the hell possessed that girl’s parents to have them buy her all this crap and parade around in $800 dollars worth of clothes and accessories? What kind of values will that instill in her? Is she the one who has one of the Hummers in the high school parking lot?

There were girls at my high school with that particular Louis Vuitton bag, and I always wanted one. My mom refused to buy it, much like she refused to buy me the Polo shirts and $50 Calvin Klein jeans that I asked for. But you know what? As much as I hated it at the time, I’m so thankful that she did. I’m 34 years old and I still want that bag, but I’m too cheap to buy it for myself. Perhaps someday I will, but right now I think I’m pretty happy with my life the way it is now.

I can’t stand rude people. If it were up to me I would round them up and shoot them. Having to smile and put on a nice face in the face of rudeness gives me ulcers. I’m very likely to snap.

I jump through hoops to get rid of the comment spammers and then today I get 90 trackback spams. Sheesh. So I’ve renamed my trackback script, and it won’t work anymore. Spammers suck the joy right out of life.

Go check out ARGN, lots of exciting news in the last week!