Moderately Homicidal: Just Your Average Wednesday

Can someone explain to me why it is you'd bother putting a virus on someone's blog? If I'm writing only about myself, and occasionally about the LRHM, who, as far as I know, has no idea, what's the point? Is it sour grapes because I'm not writing about you?

What an interesting thought. I have to tell you, at first I was completely enraged. But then again, rage is one of my foremost moods. Lets face it, if you add up all of my OTHER moods, and multiply their percentage times two, they still don't get to the amount of time I spend in a good quality, high-class, finger-flipping, teeth-baring, no-holds-barred rage. So whoever you are, don't get all up in your own grill with excitement. Having me enraged ain't all that, brother/sister/friend.

My second thought after that was, "COOL!" I have a stalker. And that's the emotion that's choosing to stay with me, oddly enough. Despite the fact that not that many people are commenting on here, obviously there's someone reading; come on, show yourself! You little minx! No need to be shy, you twisted cheeky-pants! With all seriousness, this has to be the coolest thing that's happened to me since I started blogging.

I have a pretty good idea who's doing it. And of course it's going to be someone who's fully versed in computers, and butta wouldn't melt in his/her mouth. Coooool as a cucumber, is this person. This one is pretty bright, from a computer standpoint, but mean and sneaky. You know, your standard, garden variety viper. But from the stories I've heard, about as trustworthy with his/her word ...

So here's the deal: If I find out who it is, I'll create mayhem. I'm like that. You see, while I'm not a naturally born bitch, I DO tend to react rather strongly to outside stimuli, like THIS SORT OF SHIT. I sense that while you might have the power to do it again, your powers of REASONING are less than stellar, so lets try to sit back and re-evaluate ourselves and figure out just what it is we're getting out of this before we go ahead and do it again, shall we? Seriously. Are we this lonely? Or just this pathetic in general?

And if it happens to be a family member, or "family member in waiting" ... well, that would be just a huge mistake all around, now, wouldn't it (wink, wink)?

Meggy

I'm On The Top Of The World ....

It never fails to amaze me just how fast I can go from one extreme to another in this crazy life. One day I'm sitting in the corner of the shrink's office, messily pouring my misery into snotty tissues, and the next day I can't sit still, running around like tomorrow won't have enough hours (it won't).

Amazing ~ or something. As ridiculous as it sounds, mania has it's perks.

Since I didn't manage to sleep decently (again!), I was awake at 2:30, and for most of the night. I managed to dose off after my husband left the bedroom at 5:30, but at 6:15, I was up. By 7, I was dressed, and out of the house, getting coffee, reading the paper, picking up stocking stuffers, and getting the car serviced. Then I went home ...

At home I put everything into the appropriately named bags, thoroughly vacuumed the house, which required cleaning the filter about 12 times (literally), threw out excess bags and boxes, and got ready to clean the carpets. I managed to clean THREE DAMNED STAIRS ... then my excruciatingly expensive carpet cleaner crapped out. MAN, I was choked. However, the bottom three stairs were the dirty ones, so now they match the rest. There's some logic in there. Trust me. After I put everything away, I got a bucket of water and went up to hand-wash the spots I had pre-treated before I started ...

Three emails went out to important people who needed info on soccer, and three phone calls about cars were made. I think somewhere in this day, I ate. As I write this, I'm looking at the cushions on the other sofa and thinking that they really need to be moved, and after dinner I'm going to start baking ...

The difference between this type of activity and other people having this type of activity is that:

I cannot stop. Others do this because they need to get it done. I do it because I need to move. I cannot stop. I could have waited on any number of things that I'm doing, and God knows some of it could wait, and I could sit and go through it, organize it better, and leave it for tomorrow. Alas, it's not that easy. This is the joy (or hell) that is mania.

And I'm tired. My bones ache from stretching on the stairs as I cleaned them. The vacuuming I told you about took two hours because I can't do it, "just a bit", or "just enough". It has to be perfect. In retrospect, it's probably a good thing the shampooer died, or I'd be doing it til 10pm. Every time I stand up, I hesitate, stooped over like an old man for a few moments, as my muscles take the time they need to stretch back out into a normal state. It ain't pretty.

Tomorrow? Who knows. I might be right back in the toilet, sitting curled up in the corner, staring sightlessly out into the yard. For now, I best get back to work while I can... c'est la vive.

Meggy

Wishful Thinking

No, you can't always get what you want ...
You can't always get what you want ...
You can't always get what you want ...

But if you try sometimes ... you find ...
You get what you need.

Really? Does this happen? Do people really find this phenomenon is an actuality? Well, I want snow, and I live in southern California.

We'll see, won't we?

Meggy

Who Was That Masked Woman?

Yesterday I saw my mother in church; we were sitting about 10 rows back from her when I spotted her grey hair up towards the front. She was wearing a short black sweater with a mandarin-style collar, and a single red and white flower pattern sewn on the back. It was quite typical of her, actually. She's always had a great sense of style.

As I watched her, she reached back and fixed her hair. This, too, is something that has been typical of her for as many years as I can remember. For some reason, she's always been concerned that her hair will be, "flat" in one spot. So she combs it out with her fingers, pulling it this way and that, finishing with a pat before going back to her songbook.

My mother has an interesting build. It's the type of build I wish I had, and probably would have, if I lost ... Oh, I don't know, a gazillion pounds. She has square shoulders, like those on a sewing dummy (what are those things called?); but her waist and hips are very narrow. Consequently, she can never buy a suit, "off the rack". She can buy some tops, but prefers to sew most of her pants herself. She's a size 8 on top because of her shoulders, although she's very thin, and about a 4-6 on the bottom.

I need to talk to my mother. There are so many things wrong, and day after day I feel like the only person in my life who can, or could, help me is my mother. She KNOWS .... understands. There's that knack for seeing inside me and getting to the heart of the problem, even if it's not exactly what I want to hear. But at least it's something tangible and useful, and ALWAYS done with love.

The only problem? My mother has been dead for 16 years.