Slowly Coming Around

Truth be told, I had to take to my bed for a day after the election. I’m slowly coming back around. America, this America of low initiative, reduced morals, ridicule and condescension is where we live now. Last night I was killing time by watching Two Broke Girls on TV. One of the roommates walked into the bathroom and surprised the other one, who was busy masturbating with the shower head. Much was made of that, and the references to it continues for several minutes. Who do I complain to about this? Is there anyone else who thinks this contributes to the diminishment of society? Or is this a symptoms of the diminishment that has already happened?

The barn door is hanging open, isn’t it?

I turn for inspiration to Dorothy Parker, a wise-cracking hard case who I think would have understood me if we lived at the same time. Sorry for this alteration of your work, Dorothy but the underlying sentiment is the same for both of us.

Canada bores you;

England is damp;

Singapore canes you;

Mexico – uh oh! cramp!

Gaza isn’t lawful;

Austria is gray;

France smells awful;

You might as well stay.

Ache Flake

SUNDAY MORNING UPDATE: I’m feeling much better today. Wow, that jetlag … amirite? Remind me not to blog for 24 hours the next time  I fly back from the coast. Let the record show that I am still pretty, only now it’s more of a sagging, overweight kind of pretty.

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When we took up residence here  so many years ago, among the things that two found in the back yard were an umbrella clothes dryer and a big willow tree. The laughable line dryer was the first thing to go and Sami installed a two lines on reels that ran at a slanted angle from the back of the house to the big tree. I had a talent for arranging the goods in type, color and size order. I hung everything out and it was beautiful, satisfying to every one of my senses.

I took a shower today and knew as soon as I picked up a stiff, scratchy towel I knew that that someone had washed it and slung it over the deck rail to dry. I rubbed it against my face for a long time and until it got damp and soft, I remembered how strong and energetic I was then.

They keep talking about what they saw when they  were transferring old video tapes to CDs this week. “You were so pretty!” So excited to discover this lost history, this thing about me long gone. They don’t even hear what they’re saying about the me now.

The tree fell down and the children are adults and I’m always tired.

Tears Fall

Tears were falling out of me today.

I can’t tell you that I was actively crying – it’s just that disappointment was overflowing and dripping out of me. I’ve put up with the marginalization, the devaluation and the daily insultation only so I could hang on till the end point which was supposed to be today. Now it looks like the cruel puppet master holds my strings for a little longer.

It’s not personal – I know that. If it was personal, that would be easier to take.  Its an awful thing to be me right now. I can’t even control the tears that insist on puddling up and  leaking out, rendering me the thing that is to be avoided at all costs: a reactionary emotionalist*.

I’ve already applied the antidote: sitting on the twilight deck after a week away, amidst flowerpots that sb;atently lie about  their promise, adored by man and beast with equal intensity, unwound by sauvignon blanc. Tears continue to fall. Just fall, all on their own. While I’m not afraid of what it means now, I’m afraid of what it portends.

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* A cry- baby.