"More Matter, Less Art"

Happy Ostara, everyone. I think it was actually yesterday, but Blogger has been tinkering with the site, so I was down for a little bit. By the time the problem was fixed, it was too late to post (and, I am lazy). It’s a Moo point anyway, since it is nowhere near the first day of spring around here. I take it back: it’s not snowing. I give credit where credit is due. Thanks, Michigan, for not sucking as hard as you possibly can. In England, from whence all the calendar observances and their respective dates come, the weather is lovely. It’s easy to understand why the pilgrims were so frickin’ confused by our weather patterns; you know, right before they all died from the cold.

This weather makes me irritable. Largely because it forces me to drink more coffee, and the coffee makes me irritable. I’ll switch to water and shut up.

I got a clean bill of health for my dog this weekend, which ended up starting a fight. Upon coming home, my little sister (she of the shirt) asked me how the vet visit went, whereupon I immediately began gushing about how wonderful, perfect and healthy my dog is. Which is all true. Which is the exact wrong thing to say to a person whose cat is dying from some sort of cancer and needs insulin shots twice a day. I know this now. I knew it then, I think, but I wanted to make sure that my other sister, who was in the room, heard that my dog was operating at 100% so I don’t get midnight phone calls telling me the dog has diphtheria, or cataracts, or some other damn thing, which has happened in the past. I wasn’t even making eye contact with my little sister, now that I think about it; I just didn’t want to be annoyed by any alarmist “your dog is really sick oops she just ate mom’s geranium I guess she’s fine now since she barfed, bye” while I’m trying to sleep. Understandably, my little sister flew off the handle, because she loves her cat and I’m dead inside. I apologized later, when she finally accepted my calls. I wasn’t being mean intentionally. I never am. I’m kind of thoughtless. Let’s talk about something else.

I was about to go on about things that were bothering me, but then I realized it was all stuff that I fixate on because I can’t just appreciate how well things are going. I am filled with ennui. [Hi Jackie; I know how you loves your ennui.] I have that, the boredom induced by privilege. It’s why rich kids do coke and have gang-rape parties. When things are basically going so well for your whiny ass that you can’t just be grateful and give something back, you have to waste your time, money and life on extravagances so that you don’t realize what a waste of DNA you truly are. Yeah, I have some of that, but it’s rather a mild case. I just complain about petty things. I don’t do the coke. I don’t even drink Coke. Now that I think about it, I’m too lame to have ennui. And too poor. And too prone to guilt. I am aware that the starving African babies care not a jot for my problems; I just can’t help myself.

Let’s all click here and help some African babies. For real.

My boss just walked up to hand me something, and having done that, walked quickly away without a word. I could almost deem it “beating a path” away from me. This is remarkable because he is a doctor, and I was eating an apple. I guess what they say is true.

I’m sorry this is so boring; I need to bust out those writing books again so I can remember what it’s like to focus on a topic, otherwise this space will become an unending diatribe about how my shoes pinch my feet. “And they cost too much! Lean Cuisines are never on sale. The Limited and Express have somehow changed places in the fashionsphere. I really don’t like carrots.” You had to come all the way here to learn these things. I punish you for your faithfulness. I apologize.

Efforts will resume tomorrow. I am off to flog myself.*

*No, you can’t watch. This is not that kind of site.**
** (I wish.)


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