Cosmic Uncertainty

August 29th

Something must be misaligned in the universe today.  My neighbor's apartment was broken into, her laptop stolen while she took a shower, then I dropped my sunglasses in the toilet, then everything I picked up before going to work fell swiftly out of my hands, then while going to get lunch my Top Five Least Favorite Songs in the Whole Entire Cosmos came on the radio all at once, on different stations.

1.  Sheryl Crow - All I Wanna Do
2.  Sublime - What I Got
3.  Red Hot Chili Peppers - Scar Tissue
4.  Paula Cole - I Don't Want to Wait
5.  Shania Twain - That Don't Impress Me Much


Ugggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh shoot me.

Today Must Be Irritating Day

I’m not much for venting about stuff, but today it is essential.  An observation: It must be built in to human programming to comment on the temperature, not limited to the weather, or in a room, or of our own bodies, or how we feel in terms of temperature, but primarily so.

It’s hot.

It’s cold.

It’s too cold.

I’m cold.

It’s cold in here.

It’s warm in here.

I’m suffocating in here.

I’m a sunlight person.

My feet are cold.

My toes are ice cubes.

I’m sweating balls in here.

My face is hot.

Your mom is hot.

Your mom like sweaty balls.

It’s too hot in here to think that’s funny.

I’m freezing and you don’t even care.

So that means I’m not a “sunlight person?”

It’s dark and cold in this office.

I like working in a cave.

I hate how you’re cold all the time.

Your mom hates it too.

I happen to be of the School that thinks being slightly on the cool side is far better than slightly on the warm.  I can always put something else on, drink something warm and yummy, walk around and generate heat.  But if I’m too hot, I’m just too bloody hot.  And when I get hot I get mad, and if I’m too hot and mad and there’s lots of computing going on, then it’s sort of over at that point.  So nevermind the fact that being in a cool environment should always trump being in a hot one, I feel no pangs of sympathy if anyone in my vicinity is “too cold” (whereas in most situations, I usually feel slight pangs if not hefty pangs of sympathy.  I am even capable of empathy, too, but it depends where I am in my cycle).  I truly do not care about your fingers, your toes, your face or how sucky your space heater is.  Wear something wool, put on a scarf, and shush.  Running one’s mouth does not, in fact, generate heat like regular running does, which perhaps explains why it happens so frequently.  And that means you can STOP COMPLAINING ABOUT IT because it’s NOT MAKING YOU WARMER.

Other things that mystify me:

• Why the heater in the office bathroom runs at full blast for about an hour in the morning and at no other time of day.  Have you ever tried to poo with a strong hot blast of air pouring over you?  It’s strangely challenging.
• Why the person in the next parking space at my building insists on parking diagonally in their space.  Technically legal, but SO. IRRITATING.  I guess they’ll get the hint by the dings in their door.
• Why coffee = happiness (not that it matters…)

Today, to combat the arctic cold, I am wearing the best thing in the world: a cerulean blue and hunter green wool Pendleton shirt with pearly buttons.  It was gifted to Brother #2 by our Stepdad along with a few others in different colors.  They’re “vintage” because he wore them in the seventies during his cop days when his mustache grew to Tom Selleck proportions and he’d bust pervs in Church parking lots.

Okay, that’s a lie.  His mustache STILL measures at Tom Selleck proportions.

When Brother “got too fat” for the shirts (which really means nothing.  Even when he was running half marathons every other day and sustaining himself on one apple per day and that’s it, he’d say he was “too fat” for his jogging shorts) he passed them on to me and now, HOO-rah, I get to wear them on delightfully brisk days like today.  It’s a good thing I was wearing it, because I might have frozen to death in the frigid sixty-eight degrees in my office before we got the heater fixed.

Update:

In case you were wondering, I left my job this week.

And in case you were wondering again, I got a new job to replace it.

Yes, it was long overdue.

No, it wasn't easy finding a new one.

Yes, I am nervous about starting next week.

But I look forward to getting my soul back.

Susan Miller Says So

"This month will provide you with a rare chance to big leap ahead in your career. You have a narrow window, but it's a superb one. You won't have any problems getting the attention and support of higher-ups with this lineup of planets. After these little partygoers disperse, they will not be back to this same part of your chart for a very long time. Mars is not due to return for two years. In the case of Venus, Mercury, and the Sun, those are not scheduled to come back until next year. The most important planet in this group, Jupiter, giver of gifts and luck, will not be back for 12 years. Last month you had this beautiful lineup but Mercury spoiled the pudding. This month you will have no such impediments. This is why you must show the universe your intentions and go after your career goals with a vengeance, dear Cancer! Go for the gold! You will have all the right conditions, from May 1-15!"


Done.

I'm on Board With This

"Writing in the Journal of Medical Ethics, psychologist Richard Bentall proposed that happiness be reclassified as a 'psychiatric disorder' -- a pathology that should be treated with therapy.  'Happiness is statistically abnormal,' he argued.  It 'consists of a discrete cluster of symptoms, is associated with a range of cognitive abnormalities, and probably reflects the abnormal functioning of the central nervous system.'  If he's correct, Cancerian, you may have a problem.  According to my reading of the astrological omens, you're about to be besieged by a massive influx of good feelings.  It may be hard for you to fend off surges of unreasonable joy, well-being, and gratitude.  So let me ask you: Are you prepared to enter into rebel mode as you flaunt your abnormal bliss?"

2011 Rob Brezsny
Free Will Astrology

What. Ever.

Today is just not happening.

I can’t believe I bruised the top of my foot with a frozen sausage.  A frozen sausage!

He went rogue and leapt out of the baggie, slippery bugger, and assaulted the bony part of my rather delicate paw.  Hurts like a sonofabitch.  He eventually landed on the floor and I didn’t even bother to wash him off before popping him in the wave. 

That’ll teach him.

I am convinced weirdness occurs in waves.  Or clusters.  Or bunches.  Or some sort of categorizable grouping.

Yesterday a woman seated in front of me on the bus felt compelled to discuss the activities of her life at full volume, directed at nobody, voiced with terrible importance.  Then she stopped suddenly and turned around one-hundred-eighty degrees to look me in the face, wild and wide-eyed, as if I might have a reply. 

Perhaps she was talking to me. 

I met her gaze with stony calm, what I thought was a pretty direct “What?” or “No thanks I’m not interested” or perhaps “I’m not in the mood” because I really was not in the mood.  Plus, she had not asked a question for which there should be a reply. I felt partly at a loss and partly annoyed by her interrogatory manner.  And partly I’m starving get me home now before these raw eggs make their way into my gullet.

She held my gaze for a moment, looking into what felt like the deepest extent of my soul, then quickly turned around and continued hollering about Scorpios and their cutoff date and why the weather is doing what it’s doing.

I shifted in my seat, strangely uncomfortable, and focused my attention on a baby munching happily on a tulip her mom had picked for her.

Get me out of here.  PleaseandThankYou.

Here, I Got You These Paper Binoculars

Why, yes -- I will polish off the remaining Baker Josef's Semi-Sweet Chocolate Callets (For Baking, Melting & Nibbling) because they are so perfectly un-sweet, so yummy and melty, so delectable and crispy in fine round discs.  Nevermind the fact that I've been eating chocolate like there is no tomorrow (because if there is no tomorrow, I will feel better going out knowing I spent my last moments reveling in smooth semi-sweet perfection), on top of the sneaky handfuls of free Jelly Bellies and runaway Snickers Bars left beneath my computer monitor at work. 

I think I might be broken. 

In more ways that I previously suspected.

And now I am alternating between bits of smooth chocolate and sips of hot green tea, brewed extra strong. 

It's Bliss: Version One and Bliss: Version Two in harmony. Or, duking it out. 

Either way, I've decided this is my Heaven and I'll surely be okay if today is indeed the last day of the world.

On my mind lately(besides a basket

of other things):

              Chickens

              Chocolate

              Sleep, more sleep

                                 ... 

I feel increasingly tired as the week wears on.  Last night I dreamed of robots (again), super high-tech super computers made paper-thin and attached to belted keychains, and spies trying to get away from government officials. 

Despite that, I'm sleeping well.  Just. Still. So. Tired. 

Oh, and hens are coming out of my head.  But that doesn't appear to be affecting my sleep.

 Note to self:

The Way March Eighth Unfolds

Morning

I am already starting to regret the half a Paradise cinnamon bun I just scarfed, starting with the middle and working outward.  It was quite the helping, since the whole bun was about the size of my face.

Modesty?  Not today. 

           "I don’t know why I think I can get by with using small Post-Its. 
            I just can’t get my point across in 2 ½ inches." -KT



Afternoon

I am so over this day. 
Are you over this day? 
I am So. Bloody. Over. It.


Of note: An Evolution
    
     Ridiculous
     Ricockulous
     Ridonkulous
     Stupid
     Stoopid
     Super stupid
     Super stoop
     Stoopy stoop
     Ristoopulous
     Ricockustoop
     Ristoopucock



Eve

Rocked out on the treadmill and got up to 6.2 mph at 8% incline.  Only for thirty seconds, but man that thirty seconds sure does feel like twenty minutes.

Now my legs feel like thin spaghetti noodles, my back feels like rotini, and my mind feels clear like a smooth alfredo, even though I had beans and rice for dinner. 

And on the bus home I thought of nothing except KT's beans and rice song, sung to the melody of a Beethoven Symphony.  Playing over and over again, it helped to stave off the hunger pangs and concentrate on more constructive things, like chewing my gum in time with the melody.

Oh, and I
 finally caved. 
   Kind of a no-brainer
     at $9.99, wouldn't
       you say?