Also: What is the deal with this?

I can’t even make that stuff up.

Here’s the thing.

I’ve forgotten what the thing is. Maybe I should go back to bed. There was something I was going to say and then I forgot what that was. What. The. Hell.

Eh, forget it. It’ll come to me.

and you might, I don’t know, want to take a peek. I got some great shots (if I do say so myself — and I do. Cause I just did.) of an eagle a couple days ago. I’ve posted them over there for your wandering eyes.

I’ve been busy working and crafting and cooking and cleaning and photographying. I’ve got some photographic proof of that, but I don’t have ample time to load them up right now. I’ll make  a mental note to do that.

Otherwise, I’m on Team Conan this week and in Vegas next.

Exciting times!

It’s eight o clock and I’m just waiting for bedtime. It’s the highlight of my evening. I’m like, DYING for bedtime. Come oooon bedtime! Let’s go!

It’s not been a good day, but I’ve resolved to pick myself up by my big girl panties and deal with it. Whining and pouting like a simpering, spoiled nitwit isn’t going to help anything. Well, okay, it does make me feel a little better to hide in the closet and have myself a good cry, but only to an extent. After the first hour it just feels self indulgent and a little embarrassing. Not to mention the carpet burns from thrashing around like a lunatic on the closet floor.

I assure you, I am completely sane. First of all, we have a very spacious closet. It’s huge! I leave breadcrumbs when I go in for my wardrobe.  Secondly,  It was just a long, frustrating day. People are a disappointment and then I feel bad for expecting so much of them so in the end, their failures become my failures. Right? So there’s this person you know and this person doesn’t do the things he or she should do in order to lead a drama-free, successful, at least somewhat happy life. Even though this person knows the right thing to do. They have the answers. They just …don’t choose it. And then this person, this person turns to you like, CONSTANTLY, for validation and a pep talk. “Oh boo hoo. It’s not working out for me. Make me feel better.” Oh ffs, do what you’re supposed to do, don’t do the rest or else don’t come crying to me to make you feel better about your poor, stupid choices.

I assure you, I am completely sane. First of all, that conversation, while technically only in my head and with an imaginary person, it ALSO could very well apply to a conversation that takes place OUTSIDE of my head and with non. ..imaginary… person.

And secondly — I’ve forgotten the second point. But whatever it was, I’m sure it was cleverly constructed in such a way that you’re left with no lingering doubts whatsoever about my sanity.

Psycho killer, qu’est que c’est.

It looks better in Firefox, I swear. I know it should look the same across all browsers, but let’s be honest here. I’ve barely got enough skill to brush my hair in the morning, much less make this thing compatible for every browser known to man.  Maybe one day. Maybe.

It went like this:

Have you worn this in six months?

No?

Then in the bag it goes.

I had stuff in there I’ve not worn in a year. and longer.  I had stuff that was six sizes too big for me. Six! I kid you not. (That’s a crutch that makes it okay to gain weight, you see. No, no. It’s fine. I’ve still got a “fat” wardrobe!) I had clothes that went out of style with bangles and stirrup pants. A poncho? Seriously? I never even wore that when it was in style. You remember those five minutes they were in style, right? It was all Martha Stewart’s fault.

Anyway, it’s all gone now. I could probably get rid of more, but it’s a start. I shipped them off to the shelter for battered women and haven’t looked back.

But now that I think about it….that poncho COULD come back in style. Maybe I should have kept that?

The new house is lovely. It’s big and roomy and beautiful and I very much like it. Know what I don’t like? Packing. And unpacking. And cleaning. And not knowing where any damn thing is. Those things I could do without.

I’ve been experiencing a general and very unpleasant anxiety for a while now. Another thing I don’t like. I can’t put my finger on what it is, but it’s had me up early the last few mornings, walking the floor over it. There is a knot in my chest and I feel like things are spinning out of control. I stop, take inventory. Everything seems okay. But what if it’s not? What if I’m missing something?

I’ve got a long laundry list of things to do, sure. But since when is that new? It’s not. I came out of the womb with a heap of responsibility. So what’s going on? Why am I afraid and what’s causing this knot in my stomach? Not knowing is causing even MORE anxiety. I need a lifeline.

Or a get out of jail free card.

Or an actual shrink.

(sometimes I feel also like just putting words on photos. it’s a thing.)

We live in a secluded area out in the country and it’s usually pretty quiet. There’s a little noise from the highway, but it’s far enough away from us to be mostly unnoticeable. But there was an accident a few miles from the house and since nobody overreacts to a fatal car collision more efficiently than our County’s PD, they were sure to send over the entire police department as well as every ambulance and fire truck in the county. I think they even brought in some Mounties from up north.

Because this is the way my head works, I thought of the zombies first.

I get up way earlier than everyone else in the house. I usually have some tea, check my email. Enjoy the silence. Yesterday I used the time to clean my office. I finally found the calculator I bought a million years ago and forgot to open even though I needed it SO, SO bad when I bought it.

I like my time in the morning. The house is quiet and I have nothing I Have To Do. I hate the constant have-to. This time in the morning allows me to wake up slowly and peacefully. Well, most mornings anyway. This morning two people were busy dying on the side of the highway. Their lives seeped out on the pavement as mine slipped back in. Kind of depressing when you stop and think about it. So I won’t. Not too much. Not right now.

Anyway, I thought of the zombies because of the sirens. There were so many of them, so many different kinds. After the first one or two I really started to notice. It’s also kind of depressing to think about that. People hardly notice the sirens anymore. It’s not quite as bad as car alarm apathy, but it’s getting close. Even though I’m used to them, I’m not used to so many of them. That was a little weird. I’m used to hearing one. Maybe two. This morning they just kept coming. And coming. And coming. Spaced several minutes apart, but all of them loud, frantic, fast. One meant bad news. Two was worse. Too many to count means disaster. Bad juju distaster. I naturally thought the zombies had finally come.

My mind went from that thought to betting myself that the television would blare incredulous, sensational horror stories of all the atrocities taking place across the globe. Brains eaten. Cannibalism. The dead rising, prolific in number, hungry for flesh. That kind of thing. They would tell us to stay in our homes, aim for the head. Then the signal would go black, after about a week. I give us a week. Tops. If the zombies don’t finish us off, we’ll make ourselves extinct by one another’s hand in the ensuing madness. Neighbor will turn on neighbor. Mother on child. Every man for himself. I could survive the zombies. I’m pretty sure. I’ve seen enough zombie movies, read enough zombie books to have a pretty good idea. It”s Us I’m not sure about. The living make far less sense to me than the dead.

I wasn’t positive it was finally the zombies, but I had a good hunch and I was pretty sure the television would tell me all about it. But the remote was all the way over there and so  I just stared at it thinking, “Meh, let them come.”

Peace be with the families of this morning’s accident victims. I’m sure their hearts must be breaking. I’m sorry for them and their loss.