Here is also the man with esophageal cancer.

From a selfish standpoint, that’s an unholy bummer. He’s very intelligent and well-written. He’s level-headed and thoughtful. He is tough, but yielding.

From his standpoint…Jesus does that suck? I can’t even think about it. It harshes my mellow to the final degree. How can people even stand knowing? How does the knowledge alone of the thing not kill us?

He writes about his ordeal here, in Vanity Fair. He writes about it so well, it makes me want to call everyone I know and tell them I love them because, you just never know. You know?

Myself, I love the imagery of struggle. I sometimes wish I were suffering in a good cause, or risking my life for the good of others, instead of just being a gravely endangered patient. Allow me to inform you, though, that when you sit in a room with a set of other finalists, and kindly people bring a huge transparent bag of poison and plug it into your arm, and you either read or don’t read a book while the venom sack gradually empties itself into your system, the image of the ardent soldier or revolutionary is the very last one that will occur to you. You feel swamped with passivity and impotence: dissolving in powerlessness like a sugar lump in water.

Bluh. Only read it if you’re in the right head space. Otherwise, it will just blow you out. But do read it. And send good vibes his way.

1892
“I pledge allegiance to my flag and the republic for which it stands: one nation indivisible with liberty and justice for all.”

1892 to 1923
“I pledge allegiance to my flag and to the republic for which it stands: one nation indivisible with liberty and justice for all.”

1923 to 1924
“I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States and to the republic for which it stands: one nation indivisible with liberty and justice for all.”

1924 to 1954
“I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands; one nation indivisible with liberty and justice for all.”

1954 to Present
“I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.

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.