Monthly Archives: May 2010

Stuff and more stuff

My poor blog has been neglected lately. As has my dirty laundry (and I don’t mean that as a metaphor, though that has probably been set aside, too), my house plants, my good intentions regarding my diet and those mysterious piles of “stuff” that build up in my house — you know the ones. They start out with a small piece of paper, perhaps a piece of junk mail you want to toss in the recycling bin in the garage when you have the energy to take the extra 10 steps to do so, but within a week, like an asexual thing it breeds with itself and produces a pile of . . . of . . . of . . . stuff.

It usually happens on the kitchen counter right beside the door that goes into the laundry room. Another one often forms on the landing spot where the stairs turn. There’s a spot on the hearth that collects and collects and collects. There are others, too numerous to catalog here.

Right now my entire desk is covered with one–don’t even ask me where my coffee cup is. I can find it, but it’s probably a dangerous location for it to be.

Honestly, I think I found the inspiration behind The Trouble with Tribbles episode of Star Trek — remember those furry things that were born pregnant or something? I can picture it: a script writer with a serious case of writers block in a studio so filled with wadded up paper balls that he couldn’t find his typewriter. It looks as if the paper balls bred . . . and poof! The Trouble with Tribbles.

If only my mess would be such inspiration.

I tackle my self-breeding piles every Friday morning. I have to as it’s the day I pay bills and usually, especially, in the piles on my desk, there’s something that needs to be paid. I read, I pay, I respond, I file, and then I’m amazed at the mountain of trash that’s produced from it all.

My desk is always beautifully neat and tidy when I’m done. And I vow to never let it happen again, but for some reason I have a tough time remembering the vows I make to myself (my husband, I’m sure would be relieved to know as bad as my memory gets sometimes, I never forget my vows to him).

my desk on a light Friday morning

I’ve read organizational materials out the wazoo. I’ve taken time management training classes for various jobs. I’ve heard that mantra “only touch a piece of paper once” so many times it has no meaning to me. That kind of stuff just doesn’t seem to function well with my limited amount of working brain cells, which I’m guessing are piled up in random spots inside my skull.

I love systems. I create them all the time to prevent chaos from forming around me. And then I forget I created them and, well, chaos forms around me, particularly in little piles all over my house. But it’s only for limited times, as I usually get it all cleaned up before cocktail hour on Friday nights. So I guess that means I have my priorities right, right? Whew! I’m so glad I can stop worrying about it all then.



Filed under Chaos, Definitions, Good Housekeeping

Still complaining after all these years

So my lovely husband has started reminding me lately that I’m still complaining. He has a point — I am still complaining, but I gotta say, life has the deck stacked against me.

It’s not that I want to complain; I really don’t. There’s just so much shit going on around me that it’s hard to make a comment about anything without it sounding like a complaint. My allergies remain so severe that all I want to do is take a hand-rake and rip out my eyes because they itch so much and there are days I sneeze so frequently that I’m afraid to drive as I might lose control of my car. My PMS is so bad these days it’s telling me I’m peri-menopause, actually it’s shrieking it to the world with me completely unable to control it. There’s oil spilling out in the gulf and all that is happening about is fingers are being pointed instead of someone shoving them into the hole to plug it up (that metaphor was a stretch, I know — I’m talking about the boy with his finger in a dyke).

And I’m getting old. It’s official. I’m officially getting old. Proof came with his latest comment a few minutes ago, “boy you’re sure complaining a lot this morning.” All I wanted was for his help in making the text on the emails in my in-box look bigger. No, I didn’t rearrange my desk. I just can’t seem to see what’s in my in-box like I used to. I’d love to say that the entire world is using a smaller font, but I have a feeling that’s not so true. So he changed the resolution and yes, the letters are bigger, but now they’re fuzzy. All I said was, “thank you, but now they’re blurry.” And oops, I did it again. I complained.

What’s a girl to do? Should I remain mute? The only way that’d be possible would be if I completely alienate myself. And the odds of my butt exploding and blasting me into the milky way are better than thinking my kids would leave me alone in my room undisturbed for longer than 30 seconds. But I could try. I could lock myself in my bedroom with nothing but good literature and vodka. The thing is, if by some miracle of miracles and not a screamed “MOM!” is heard, I’ll sit around reading and drinking all day, which on the surface sounds ideal, but eventually I’ll have to pee and when I stand up after all that lounging, I’m sure I’ll be stiff and sore. Add a little drunk into it and soon enough I’ll be saying (complaining) “Good Christ, my neck hurts. And my back!”

Shall I go to some island paradise and relax in a hammock while polite and obsequious waiters feed me delicious foods and ply me with umbrella-laden drinks? Yes, that’d be nice and one would think complaint free. But, it couldn’t last forever. Eventually I’ll be bitching about my credit card bills. Resorts ain’t cheap you know.

Tell me, what’s a girl to do? I’m still giving it the old college try–I keep re-starting my week of living complaint free. ~sigh~ it’s just that life gives me such fodder. God it’s hard–and that’s not a complaint, just a comment about something I’ve noticed.


Filed under Age, Chaos, Definitions

It’s the End of the World As We Know It

Ok, if the title of this post didn’t get the song stuck in your head (as it is in mine), then please go here, listen to it and then finish reading. I don’t like to suffer alone.

Well, then, welcome back.

If the pollen count wasn’t so high, I’d be outside painting my sandwich sign-board and humming along with R.E.M. “It’s the end of the world as we know it . . . it’s the end of the world as we know it . . . it’s the end of the world as we know it . . . I feel fine . . .” And how do I know it’s the end, you ask?

Because the Boy Scouts are now offering merit badges for Video Gaming. Honest and true. Granted, they say they’re doing it to teach responsibility and good sportsmanship. And perhaps that’s true. But I can’t help but think it’s because they’ve given up. The world has just sunk too far for even the ever optimistic and capable to be hopeful.

Regardless of how you feel about the Boy Scouts, we have all always taken for granted that if the world were about to be destroyed, a Boy Scout-like person would be there to save the day. We might be snarky about them. We might make fun of their Park-Ranger-from-Yogi-Bear-styled uniforms. We might joke about knot-tying badges. But, underneath the sarcasm there remained the security and knowledge that they could save us in great times of dire need.

Remember reading Alas Babylon! in high school? Remember that feeling during the Cold War when you finally understood that everything as we knew it could be destroyed within a couple of hours? Well, think a little harder now and reflect on who it was that could save us all. It was the people who could build shelters, fish, start a fire without lighters or charcoal bricks even. And who else but the Boy Scouts can we count on to do that?

Now then, if they are reduced to giving badges for video gaming, what could that mean? Does it mean they’ve given up hope that there’s nothing they can do to save us now? That we’re so f*cked it doesn’t matter if they know how to fish without a commercial rod? Did they just throw up their hands and say, “aw, to hell with it. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em”?

Or am I reading too much into it?

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Filed under Chaos, Commentary, Conspiracies, TASFUIL