Well, here we are again in the land of Nod. I am battling a distressing gastrointestinal condition, and seem to vacillate between feeling incredibly ashamed, incredibly frustrated, and, occasionally, incredibly content. It's strange, being alive in the 21st century, but at least we know that nobody likes Barack Obama! Ha! Ha! Why don't we just canonize the motherfucker? I mean that with the greatest of respect, because seriously, I do like the man. I mean I like him more than I like John McCain, and how much that is saying is anyone's guess. But it's saying something, folks. And in terms of healing some of the racial problems in this country, methinks Mr. Obama will go farther in that arena than dear Mr. McCain with his "country club" politics (note to self: how many people at the DNC belong to a country club? do some research here). Ah, Democrats and Republicans, peanut butter and jelly, Abbott and Costello, Cheech and Chong. Now that would be a fun Democratic Convention with those two on board, although stoners are only funny if you're high, I guess. Or at least a tad familiar with the concept.
Moving briskly along away from Obama, McCain, and other people who did not inhale (actually I think Mr. Obama did, or was it snorted?), I came to the library to print something out only to discover I don't have the *$(#*($# disk with me. God, how I hate that. Worse than I hate fleas on a dog's fur. Once I got my hair cut in North Carolina, only to discover there were fleas on the couch, plus the cranky southern hairdresser took offense to something I said and gave me a lousy haircut to boot. I never went back. Southerners don't like Yankees much if you say something they might construe as derogatory about the South. What I said I no longer remember, although I'm pretty sure it did not involve the now deceased Jesse Helms, whose strangely rabid eyes reminded me of an insane attack dog, or else a very depressed possum. Jesse is now burning in hell, according to some. Personally I think a better punishment for the man would be if he was asked to be a Walmart greeter for all eternity. I can think of no more depressing store or depressing job for anyone, although politicians are extroverts by nature. Yes, Jesse, we're gonna whistle something until you cry! And it ain't When the Saints Go Marching In. Still, I digress.
I am worried my brain has been hijacked by my medication, and I have to eat the other half of my chicken sandwich soon. It's sitting in my bag, and there is no refrigerator at the library for these types of problems. It's possible I could actually eat it, considering there are places to sit in this world and have a nice sandwich. In high school I sometimes ate in the bathroom stall, alone. Ah, joyous memories. I would come home and write about everyone in my high school and it's how I survived an abusive household, complete with insane father, fucked up denying mother, and mentally ill younger brother. My older brother had gone off to college and didn't give a shit about anyone but himself at that point. And who can blame him? Our house was crazier than a flea playin' a banjo at midnight. Yes, that made no sense, but didn't it sound kind of nice and wholesome?
Hmm - hmm. And how are we? I still have a crush, for those of you who did not know, on my karate instructor, and my neighbors are still loud. I'm still unemployed, still in therapy, and still whingeing and whining but by God, I'm sticking it out. I'm praying for a job, a quiet, non-triggering place to live, and the grace and courage to be a person of accomplishment in this crazy, crazy world.
And how are we? You know I only pray that God will bless you.
Amen to that, my friends. Amen to that! Yes, God bless you indeed.
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