My Kingdom For Keys

I'm absolutely and irrevicobly...irrevacably...irr--screw spell check. I'm tired, darn-it!

So many things have happened in the past couple of weeks: sue died, I went to her funeral, I got lots of early christmas presents, Ben and Laurel visited, I decorated a tree, I broke down a number of times, I rented a car because my other one is getting fixed because IT WASN'T MY FAULT, I TELL YA, and I can't find keys.

It seems terribly metaphysical. Keys equal an entrance to something and it seems as if I am forever getting shut off, slowed down, or tuckered out. And now that I don't have keys that physically exist to physically open a physical door to information in the form of English folders by prior students I'm just feeling a bit metaphored out. I'm drowning in new English folders in the office. I have a pretty good sized fort in here. A bit of a wall, actually. I'm half expecting to see East Berlin behind it if I ever get these blasted things out of here.

I saw Absurd Person Singular last weekend and was incredibly surprised by everything. I, sincerely, did not think it could be pulled off in any sort of fashion. I'm so fantastically wrong.

I'm trying to call Sue from the great beyond. I'm trying to tell her that she needs to help me find those keys. But no help from my dead friend. No help from someone who will never again grace the presence of the office. No help from my former mentor, my second mother. The dead can be so rude sometimes. Of course, the fact that they've gone up and died doesn't bode well to the trustworthiness of their helpfulness. But I thought I'd give it a shot. All I recieved was the sudden urge to water dying plants that Sue always kept alive. I suppose those are the priorities.

I can hardly keep my eyes open. I need a stick of dynomite. I need to bust those doors open and shell out the old and put in the new. I need to replenish stock. I need to update old ideas. I need to know that someone is reading out there. Not because I have an ego (though I do) and think that my writings are anything worth the effort taken to read them (though, obviously they're shakespeare reincarnated through me) but because I'm feeling so very isolated right now. I don't even have the hope of archeologists finding my witty ramblings because computer addresses won't be dug up next to the bones. This blog will be eaten by internet monsters and lost in the ethers of unsaved ims and deleted spam after 7 days.

And so it should be. Because heaven knows if it was possible to read this after more than a thousand years and they based all of past humanity off of what I had written they'd be convinced that everyone was plagued with psychosis and neurosis. Then again, isn't everyone? It's become a bit of the norm to be crazy. Just so long as your craziness lends itself to the social neurosis that everyone else has. It's okay to be crazy as long as you're crazy like everyone else.

currently: very small

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Regifted

This is how you tell if you've been regifted. The box that your present came in looks like it's not the box it may have come in because of white fold marks of prior openings and fingerings and tape on both sides of the lid, holding it down. But, when you open it, it IS the picture on the outside of the box regardless of your intitial preconceptions. And the picture is of a dip bowl and spreader with various fruit and/or gourd paintings along the cheaply painted porcelain bowl and spreader handle.
Today this regifting pisses me off more than others. People who conserve piss me off, today. And I use piss in the most kindest way possible. It's better than I could say. Anway, the reason why this pisses me off is because this gift was dug out of the bottom of a box of gifts and given to me with no thought of who I am.

"But everyone likes dip!"

But not everyone wants fruit embellished dishware to celebrate their love of dip. I already have dipware. It's called an old coolwhip bucket and a knife!

It is ridiculous to assume that this gift was anything more than a stumble to prove oneself in the social status of workplace folly. If your gift wasn't meant for me, don't give me a gift. I'll accept a card. Personalise the dern thing. It just...it seems silly and petty and...and I'm done now. And late.

Goodbye.

Currently: Dip..py?

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My Life is Jiggling Away

I just fixed myself lemon jellow cut in cubes in a small plastic cup. I might as well have committed myself. I might as well have sealed the jellow in one of those plastic tops and served it to myself on a tray. And attached to an IV my arm. And the IV is labelled inspiration and motivation. And right now it's gone.

You ever get those epiphanies? Those things that just clue you in on what life is really about and you can see your path clearly and with no obstacles at all and right through all those would-be obstacles? I haven't seen that in a long time, either.

These are the facts that remain:
Sue is dying.
My inspiration is dying.
My motivation is dying.
And I'm eating lemon jell-o out of a little plastic container.

It's one of those things you have to pretend to laugh about because it's so ridiculous and you'd be so humorless not to. Just make sure not to cry while you're laughing because if you're eating the jell-o while crying it's just injustice to the scene. You can't eat jell-o and cry. You eat icecream and cry. But eating jell-o and crying is like murdering Bill Cosby. It's disgusting. It's senseless. It's hilarious, but only for the moment.

The truth is, the sky is gray. And hell if I can see the sun right now. I need...a big leaf/cloud blower.

currently: If I have to answer this, you're not a very perceptive reader.

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