Lost Handkerchief

Over time holes form in the fabric of your life.  Things that you used to do come to an end.  Don’t go to the office and drink morning foam cup coffee any more.  Don’t walk the kids to school and chat with other moms any more. Don’t spend time with friends at the skating rink while the kids take lessons, any more. Don’t walk the dogs with the best friend that moved away any more.   What seemed to be a sturdy, colorful, well made piece of cloth suitable for many uses has become a frayed and faded rag too worn to mend.

decluttering

I hate…
What seems to be a national obsession with a concept referred to as “decluttering”. What an awkward neologism for tidying! It’s not like this mindset is designed to bring people to a Zen state of few possessions and a withdrawal from worldly concerns. I think it’s only a variant of consumerism which dictates a planned obsolescence cycle whereby you continually get rid of things and acquire new and younger trophy things. Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with keeping things, even if the house gets a little messy. Most people know the difference between keeping things like jigsaw puzzles and board games that the family once enjoyed and dresses that the wearer nostalgically remembers looking good in, and towers of old newspapers or barrels of empty cat food cans. In the days before abundance, people kept things and things had value and meaning. Now we often have too much, but that doesn’t mean most of it has to be thrown away even if it’s useful or meaningful. What a bunch of conformists these declutterers are!

where’s my job?

I hate…

how job postings are nothing bait and switch operations except there’s only bait, no switch.  And as all suckers have to learn, you can’t eat your bait and have it too.  I lived on a meal of bait set by an enthusiastic headhunter over the holidays, but of course it’s not true food.  And that perfect job she caught my resume with (that job I should not have let myself either feel comfortable or fantasize about) dissipated like smoke in a breeze with the new year.

waxing ruminants

I hate…

Car decals and placards with pointless information about the occupants.

Baby on Board?  Oh, okay.  In that case I’ll just go rear end someone else.  Oh, I know, how about … STICK FIGURE FAMILY?  Here goes: @#$$&#()@(*#)*%_)&#)#&)@#(!   The crumpled car door creaks open, and a pile of broken sticks falls to the ground.  Yay!

Our peasant forbears knew better than to boast about things so important as family.  They knew that arrogantly broadcasting to the world the size and nature of your family would inevitably draw the evil eye.  What about Niobe, whose fourteen children were killed by vengeful gods as punishment for her intemperate boasting?  Think she had chariot decals?

You know I think I will get a car decal after all.   An EVIL EYE!

It’s all we do anymore, boast and broadcast.  There’s nothing modest about blogging.  It assumes an at least minimal interest of the outside world in your life, thought processes, purchasing decisions.  And in many cases minutiae of your existence that  your own mother doesn’t care about.

It pervades our society.  For each and every one of us, it’s all about the me. Why do we want to focus so many eyes on ourselves?  Is this the only way to make our existence real these days, by demanding loud and continual virtual attention? Whisht.

Let’s all get a life. But how and more importantly where?  In the real world?  What is that anymore when more and more of us spend large amounts of time, effort, and heart in a virtual one?  Il faut cultiver notre jardin.  However, afterwards, il faut blog about the experience.

Well, I’m really sleepy cause of the busy day I had yesterday with my earwax problem and I really have to go to the bathroom right now, so signing off.

blah blah blah

I hate…

How my mom jeans have such shallow pockets.   Do designers privileged to fashion jeans for middle-aged ladies progressively growing more solid believe that such ladies should confine themselves to big floppy handbags and leave pocket stuffing to the young and sylph-like?  Or what? 

I grow old. I grow old.  I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

 

not so good but better

I hate…

Doing laundry while waiting to see how the nor’easter plays out.

All this past week it was “when did you lose power?” “do you have hot water?” “did you get power back?” “”you did? I hate you”   Our relative deprivation really distracted us from the election.  But it’s okay now, our president is not a corporate raider Mormon with Asberger’s and a stable of dressage horses. Which reminds me,

I hate…

Network election coverage: “with one district out of 97 in, we cannot yet project the winner in…”  “with 33 out of 34 districts in, we are going to project the winner in…”  “and here is our map of projected winners”.  I understand that there’s a lot of time to fill up and it’s a really tense and really boring time, but how about discussing something meaningful instead of making up all this projection crap to fill in the hours?  All right, forget meaningful.  How about a few good movies?

I really, really hate……

my hyperactive wireless Mac mouse, which likes to go backwards in the browser when breathed on, eliminating any not yet posted post…