Driver's Ed

Yes, it's hard to believe. The Minion can learn how to drive. I know it's a shock as I still think he's 11 years old as well. How this happened is easy. Against my better judgement, I continued to feed him. And now I get to reap the benefits of being a good, loving and caring mother. There was a parent/student meeting at the high school. I think every parent was pale and shaking afterwards. Friends came up to me, we'd had our children within months of one another, we looked at each other and asked: A) How did we get this old ( Note: not how did the children get so grown up). B) Weren't we all just yesterday fancy free drinking dollar drafts and watching volleyball outside at the local bar?(Note: this is how The Minion came to be). C) How the Hell were we going to cope with the mandatory 40 parental supervised driving hours. Yes. 40 hours of me sitting in the wrong seat, no doubt pressing my right foot into the invisible brake, probably breathing the way they told me to when I was attempting to push him out of my body and without a doubt, assuming we make it back home to Tearstained Farm in one piece, I will make a bee-line for the medicinal Scotch tucked into the back of the baking goods cupboard.

Again.

This Is The Happy Place I Go To

And honestly? How wrong is that? Spanking centaurs...why not? I do find myself listening to the real, non-Nyhm'd song " Bad Touch" over and over on my drive in to work to sell books. And I did just write a rec tag about baudy sites to see in Europe. I'll get really worried if I can't control the urge to dye my hair.

Noah's Bitch

There is a time immediately following a disaster when all you can do is talk about it. Repeat the same story over and over again. And then three months later, when you are still trying to cope, finding the words that you used ad nauseum seem to fail you. Because you are tired. And depleted. And talking about it just seems so useless. And you just want to lay down and beg for a different life. Then when you are thinking there is no light at the end of the tunnel, bulldozers are in your ravine and dump trucks are dumping, excavator jaws are screaming and diesel fuel is the fragrance of hope. But you are still exhausted and stressed because life doesn't stop when all your personal shit has hit the fan. It's like a death. People are around when it first happens. It's the afterwards when they are needed most. You find you are just dragging yourself through another day. If it weren't for The Minion I think I might have gone out back and drowned myself in the body of water that caused all this. The meaning of Irene is "peaceful" in Greek. Fuck that. Mother Nature is a bitch.

temporarily lost at sea

It's been a bad week. Maybe it was the eviction notice. Pinot and Freddie seems a good way to escape for the moment. And the f*cking awesomeness of Ian Anderson performing with an orchestra. When I was younger I wanted to play like him. Or be his flute.

Winter

Makes me go to the "happy place" that features a sunny deserted beach, a pile of books and a pitcher of something sweet and buzz inducing.

I can never decide whether to shovel out the van before the plow comes, then do it again or wait till afterward and move triple the amount of snow. Not that it really matters. It's all the same snow, just rearranged.

I miss leaves and grass.

Resolutions

I'm not a fan of denying myself things that are pleasurable, so I rarely resolve to stop certain behaviors in the New Year. I don't need to lose weight, I like having a bottle of wine every few weeks and smoking 5 to 10 cigarettes a day isn't good for me, but I certainly smoke less than I used to. I could be nicer to folks that irritate me, but basically I avoid those in my life who make me feel like I need to break out the razor blades. At work I have the"helpful smile" down pat. New Year's resolutions remind me of Lent. Find me a Catholic happy about Lent. There aren't any. This evening I'm going to enjoy the bottle of Pinot Noir I just opened, nibble crackers slathered with fat-laden cheese log and go outside and puff.

But this year I am resolving to do something I will enjoy. I am going to send one postcard a month to a friend. Or maybe more than one friend. Or maybe even...a letter. I honestly don't remember the last time I received a letter. The postcards may be crammed with regards or they may relay a single word or a list of things I'm reading. Technology has made it far too easy not to spend time on people. To loosely quote someone who will begin receiving said postcards: After the revolution we'll have to start writing again.