Aging and Raging

All subsequent rants listed in no particular order of importance…

Rage 1: Para Inglés, pulse uno…I think it is time to turn the tables. I think all the help lines in all the foreign countries outside the boundaries of the US should start with an ENGLISH-speaking voice and be given English as a first choice. There is truly nothing more irritating than calling something as “apple pie” as Sears and having my ears raped by some over-spillage of Manglish bullshit in a “choice” of languages. Hell, the canned speech takes a couple of minutes of my time. Some of it can be bypassed by pushing an appropriate button on the phone, but WTF? What if I didn’t know what “ocho” meant? Who was the idiot in California (go figure, Land of The Idiots) who thought English should not be the accepted first language of the US? May he/she/them live out his/her/their eternity(ies) in the Tower of Babel of his/her/their own creation.

Rage 2: Now you see me, now you don’t. Apparently a dead-on search isn’t required to find poor li’l ol’ me on the WWW. HOWEVER, lest one question whether he has happened upon the right Ms. M, rest assured…there are many with my name, even one with my exact name living in the same town, but there is only ONE ME. The mold was broken shortly after the creation (much to the merriment of many exes). I have to wonder at the morbid curiosity, especially since, though I like my privacy, I am not given to filtering much of anything between my head and my mouth. Ask and ye shall receive, but don’t blame me if the answers are not what you thought they might be. Got questions? I got answers.

Rage 3: It’s the Winter Solstice and boy does it ever suck — even for a hot-blooded wench like me. Good thing for me I am toasty and warm in the confines of my boudoir. If I had a coffee pot, fridge, and stove in this room, I might never leave. I have all the technology, all the AA batteries, and all other creature comforts a wily wench might need to stave off the winter chill. I broke my scraper cleaning off my car. Do you think God was trying to tell me not to bother? (Note to self: Let the car run until the stuff melts on its own — at least until the gas prices climb — which we all know will happen sooner rather than later.)

Rage 4: Why CAN’T I pay for my Visa with my Master Card? That’s really dumb.

Rage 5: My treadmill has too many screws. I had never been one to complain about too many screws in my previous lives, but this is ridiculous. If I misplace one, will I be airborne? I’ll keep you posted.

Rage 6: Japanese subtitles and movies employing same. I was up very late (early?) this morning indulging in things I will not disclose on this pathetic blog. I woke up to some Japanese man screeching “Mother” in his native tongue and fighting the ghost of said mother who had come back to avenge having been killed by having her arm lopped off by a Samurai soldier. Some folks must have too much time on their hands.

Rage 7: Street Department in Chesterton (a sister organization in cahoots with the sewer department). Thank you so much for piling up an iceberg next to my mailbox. Did your mother have any children who lived?

Off to fluff.

WW

Night Noise

It’s back…that nagging, uncomfortable feeling that keeps me awake. I have no idea from whence it comes, but it reappears all too frequently. Ever have one of those nights? Random thoughts become pervasive and insistent and I toss and turn, switch positions on the bed, turn the television on hoping the white noise will drown out the thoughts, and then turn it off again because it seems that just as I am ready to fall into R.E.M. sleep, some incessant, mindless chatter from the boob tube interrupts the rhythm. True confession: I am an insomniac.

I rationalize. It all stems from the issues I have on my plate. At least that’s what I tell myself. So, I wonder. When all is said and done…when the issues/tasks before me have been settled, will I still be an insomniac? Am I destined to be a “night person” while the rest of the world slumbers? Have I so sufficiently screwed up my body clock that I won’t ever have a “normal” sleep pattern again? I wonder. Of course, that begs the question, what is normal, really? I know other night folks who, to me, seem perfectly “normal.”

I suspect when I have my current issue with my eye and my other health concerns at least diagnosed and on the way to cure, I will rest easier…or not. All things in time, I suppose. I refuse to get fucked by the medical profession again and will take care of everything when I have 2 pennies to settle the deductible, etc. Insurance is a sham and a shame these days, and I doubt that it will get better any time soon. “The Eagle” (AKA the IRS) will dump a significant load some time in February, I reckon, and that will be nice. It’s certainly not enough to retire on, but I will be able to take care of some long overdue obligations and also take care of ME for a change. Maybe I will sleep then, or maybe I should just resign myself to being a night creature, turn off the phones during the day when everyone else is up and about, and block out the world during daylight hours. Nighttime is certainly more peaceful…

***Yawn…***

WW

Sunday

Ahhhhh…quiet on the homefront…on a pristine homefront, at that. The chicken is in the pot, the incense and candles are making everything smell yummy, and I am at peace. I think I have taken peace for granted A LOT. There is something to be said for quiet afternoons with just me and my girls.

I’m a little bummed today, however. My dad died 15 years ago today…and I still miss him every day. I thought about going to the cemetary today to have a little talk with him, but that would tear my heart into a hundred pieces. So, I thanked my maker for the time I had with him, for his innate ability to restore my faith in humankind when all evidence pointed to the contrary, and for his jovial persona, sharp wit, and lovely spirit. He was one of a kind.

I took some more pictures today. The kitchen…I love the fact that I finally have enough cabinets and I love the hardwood floor though the girls complain that it is cold. Sandy Claws may have to bring them some warm slippers.

Peace to all.