*looks guilty*

I sorry.

I very bad.

I not blog for long, long time.

*ahem*

It's been over two months since my last blog. Here's my excuse: life stinks. Life is crappy. I would just simply say life is bad, but I remember a sort of language reversal movement in the '90s during which time "bad" meant "good" so I will leave that alone.

All right, life is not "bad," per se, but it has a lot more bad moments/days/weeks/months/years than I was prepared for way back when I was a teen-ager and dreaming of the time I would become an independent adult. Those of you who know me already know why life is crappy right now, and for those few of you who don't...I really don't want to talk about it, so just take my word for it. OK? Good. End of story. Moving on.

I have heard the anguished moans of those poor souls forced to suffer, blog-less, through the goings-on of real life (which is known to us Internet-savvy fan fiction writers and message board posters as RL) and have decided to tap away at my keyboard once more. I wonder...how did you all survive without me when I disappeared from the "ravening-wolf-ridden wastelands of cyberspace" (as SFL once put it)?

In case you're wondering, that was sarcasm. Most of the time the only person I entertain with my thoughts is myself. Usually I'm the only one who finds my jokes funny.

I remember once trying to explain to my mother, in my own words, what happened in one of the Patrick O'Brian books...Killick had cleaned Jack's cabin in preparation for a grand dinner, and so had shoved everything to the sides of the room. There was a pennant draped over a cannon, and as Stephen came into the room, he kicked it out of his way...which resulted in its ending up in Killick's way as he came into the room trumpeting about dinner being served and carrying a massive platter with buttered cuttlefish on it. Well, Killick tripped over the end of the pennant, lost his balance, and ended up drenching Jack in butter sauce.

As I rolled about on the floor nearly crying with laughter after trying to explain it to my dear mother, she simply favoured me with a bemused smile and said, "I don't get it. But...YOU think it's funny, so that's good."

Why was I talking about this again?

I forget.

So...the following part of my blog was written on the 29th of November and saved as a draft. I didn't publish it because, well, I never finished it (gee, imagine the logic required to make that decision. Aren't you proud of me?). However, I didn't get rid of it because I can't stand to throw away anything I write regardless of how bad it is.

(This also explains why the blog is dated from the 29th of November! It's actually the 8th of January, 2007.)

***
I'm blogging now because I feel guilty for neglecting the poor blog for so long and because I need to vent about nonstop Christmas music. And rude people. And shopping. And working. And having no money. And having to pay $475 DOLLARS for ONE LOUSY SPEEDING TICKET! And having my health insurance go up. And rear-ending somebody's car because I am stupid.

So have I ever mentioned just how much I HATE Christmas music? Well, all right...it's not so much that I hate it, but that it gets really old really fast when it NEVER STOPS. Pairing a frustrated yours truly with endless repetitions of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (which, by the way, is a horrible song -- first the reindeer hate Rudolph because he's different, then when Santa asks him a favour, they suddenly decide they love him???) is the surest recipe for disaster you could ever ask for, short of...no, I'll leave that for you all to fill in in your own minds.

(And has anyone ever noticed that people pronounce "Christmas" very oddly when they're singing the word in a song? Now most normal people pronounce it "crismiss" while they're speaking. But when they're singing? We get all sorts of variety, from "cris-MUSS" to "cris-MOSS." *rolls eyes* I don't understand it.)

Well, as annoying as Christmas music is (if I hear Nat King Cole start singing "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire..." one more time, everybody had better put their cute little Scotty-dog-patterned hand-knitted wool mittens over their ears, because I'm gonna scream loudly enough to drown it out), I think dealing with rude people is worse.

What, I ask you, would be the point of someone waiting for approximately 15 minutes in line at a petrol station and then, when a pump is free, zooming into the space like a duck on a June bug and taking up so much room unnecessarily that the other person in line who is waiting to use the pump next to the one in question (namely, me) has no opportunity to move more than a few feet forward -- not nearly enough to get close to the pump, let alone use it?!?!

I am merely asking.

Hmph.
***

That was the end of my November 29th blog. I intended to go on ranting, but didn't have enough time at that point. Now, looking back, I see just how pointless and petty it all was and don't have the inclination to finish it. Besides, I'm sure my little audience would rather hear something more uplifting than a rant.

This is all I have from you for now, except to say that I already miss my dear Clair. My next blog, which I hope to begin very soon, will most likely be entitled "A Visit to the Pharmacy, 75 Years Too Late."

Prose Poem of the Day

I love writing these things, and I haven't done one in a while. This one I did because I am hugely fed up with political ads, prerecorded calls, opponent-bashing, prevaricating (and outright lying), and politicians CONSTANTLY using the word "fighting."

"So-and-so is FIGHTING for you!"

"She FIGHTS for the rights of those who have no voice!"

"He is always FIGHTING to keep jobs in our state!"

"Together they FIGHT to cut the red tape and distribute more of our county's resources to families in need!"

...agh...

Enough. Already. Please.

So in response, here is my prose poem of the day.

...

Politicians
seem to have run off with
honesty and integrity;
someone should yell
"Stop thieves!"
and demand that they be arrested for
stealing
some of the most important qualities
a person
or a nation
can possess.

It seems like an open-and-shut case
but during the pat-down
it is discovered that
No
Physical
or
Circumstantial
Evidence
proves that they ever came into contact
with honesty and integrity.

Now either they have stored such things
for future use
when everyone has lost interest and no longer
connects them with the crime, or
they are telling the truth
and have not seen, heard, or even
brushed up against
the missing
virtues.
But that would be a contradiction
because we all know that
politicians
don't
won't
can't
tell the truth.

Maybe honesty and integrity
ran off
all on their own.

After all, no one ever made them feel
wanted, needed, or welcomed.

And when the profilers and psychologists
give their official report
they will say that
neglect
is one of the main reasons
family members leave home.

All the friends and neighbours will say,
"How could we not have noticed that they were
missing?"

The media will
as always
ask,
"How do you feel?"

Everyone will
sob
and say,
"We just want them back."

The detectives will say,
"Too late. There is no evidence of a kidnapping
and no force was involved.
They're mature adults, and
no one
can make them come back."

The politicians will send their
deepest and most profound
condolences
and will say that they will
fight
for those left behind
and to find out what happened.

One of these days you will see the case on
48 Hours Mystery
which will make you suspect
foul play
even when there wasn't any.

Face it.
They made a choice
to walk away.
All we can do is wave
and fake a smile
while the politicians keep
fighting
without weapons.