mine.not.yours.
What's better than having a computer in your house? A computer with super-fancy fast internet.
It's been a big, wide couple of weeks and they've nearly swallowed me whole. But to give a brief and alarming update of recent events in my world:
My best friend, my baby, my sweet Jewish little-old-man cat: Mr. Regis Rabinowitz died in a tragic accident. We buried him outside of Sara's house with his own Mary statue and a couple of big, tall lamb's ear plants. It was a sad mother's day this year for me.
I got the boot from my old house, in so many words, so I now take residence in a hippy havannah, complete with perky chickens and coop, and two so-far lovely ladies. I'm happy. Gordon's happy. We're all happy.
I got rear-ended pretty badly, and have been driving a rental car for the last month straight. Long story comprised of a series of long stories, none of which are that entertaining.
I've been running, hiking, cooking, shopping the Saturday Farmer's Market, sewing, knitting, loving up the surviving cat, Gordon, whom I now call The Survivor. Way to not die, Gordon. Way to not die.
May hit me pretty hard, but I'm feeling a hell of a lot better right now than I did in April. I don't have any idea why. I've just been smiling lately when I get in the old rental car to drive to work.
And peachy as all of these inconveniences and tragedies seem on a soggy Thursday evening, some of the heartache still shoots pretty sharp. But it isn't even the loss or death that I've suffered (Don't think: He's just a cat). It's the every day digs, the turn-the-other-cheeks and the stab-you-in-the-backs that startle.
I'm not so keen on people today (back to "just a cat," it's not looking like such an insult right now). I'm wondering if selfishness is climbing it's way up the list of sins. The brutal dichotomy of me/you, win/fail, gain/lose, rise/fall, kick-you-in-the-shins-and-steal-your-candy/nail-your-skinny-arms-to-the-fucking-cross, take-credit-for-someone-elses-work-and-cheat-the-non-profit-you-work-for/keep-your-nose-to-the-grindstone-please-and-thank-you. It's got my jaw limp and lying across my lap for the shock of it. I'm as selfish as the next guy, I want, I need, gimme gimme please-- but I'm not going to take the bread off of your plate so that I can be full. Not even because I'm riding my soapbox to better-than-you, but because its just. not. necessary.
There's enough of everything to go around. Please and thank you are not in limited supply. Honesty and courtesy are sustainable resources. You can pay your rent and I can too. You can have your flattering newspaper articles and your fame and fortune without being mean and manipulative to me. It amazes me that the people who have so much of these desirables, so much money, public praise, recognition and appreciation, apparent meaning and significance in their work and their lives-- they're the ones guarding their goodies like everyone is out to get them.
It's been a big, wide couple of weeks and they've nearly swallowed me whole. But to give a brief and alarming update of recent events in my world:
My best friend, my baby, my sweet Jewish little-old-man cat: Mr. Regis Rabinowitz died in a tragic accident. We buried him outside of Sara's house with his own Mary statue and a couple of big, tall lamb's ear plants. It was a sad mother's day this year for me.
I got the boot from my old house, in so many words, so I now take residence in a hippy havannah, complete with perky chickens and coop, and two so-far lovely ladies. I'm happy. Gordon's happy. We're all happy.
I got rear-ended pretty badly, and have been driving a rental car for the last month straight. Long story comprised of a series of long stories, none of which are that entertaining.
I've been running, hiking, cooking, shopping the Saturday Farmer's Market, sewing, knitting, loving up the surviving cat, Gordon, whom I now call The Survivor. Way to not die, Gordon. Way to not die.
May hit me pretty hard, but I'm feeling a hell of a lot better right now than I did in April. I don't have any idea why. I've just been smiling lately when I get in the old rental car to drive to work.
And peachy as all of these inconveniences and tragedies seem on a soggy Thursday evening, some of the heartache still shoots pretty sharp. But it isn't even the loss or death that I've suffered (Don't think: He's just a cat). It's the every day digs, the turn-the-other-cheeks and the stab-you-in-the-backs that startle.
I'm not so keen on people today (back to "just a cat," it's not looking like such an insult right now). I'm wondering if selfishness is climbing it's way up the list of sins. The brutal dichotomy of me/you, win/fail, gain/lose, rise/fall, kick-you-in-the-shins-and-steal-your-candy/nail-your-skinny-arms-to-the-fucking-cross, take-credit-for-someone-elses-work-and-cheat-the-non-profit-you-work-for/keep-your-nose-to-the-grindstone-please-and-thank-you. It's got my jaw limp and lying across my lap for the shock of it. I'm as selfish as the next guy, I want, I need, gimme gimme please-- but I'm not going to take the bread off of your plate so that I can be full. Not even because I'm riding my soapbox to better-than-you, but because its just. not. necessary.
There's enough of everything to go around. Please and thank you are not in limited supply. Honesty and courtesy are sustainable resources. You can pay your rent and I can too. You can have your flattering newspaper articles and your fame and fortune without being mean and manipulative to me. It amazes me that the people who have so much of these desirables, so much money, public praise, recognition and appreciation, apparent meaning and significance in their work and their lives-- they're the ones guarding their goodies like everyone is out to get them.
posted by .i'll never tell. at 8:15 PM
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