Barefoot and Pregnant
Le sigh. I always leave for Texas with the best of intentions…I’m going to blog every day, or every other day, or once a week at the very least. Naturally, none of this ever happens, which is sometimes okay because my time is otherwise occupied with family and friends, but it’s sometimes not okay because there’s so much swimming around in my head that I want to blog about that not blogging feels like being spellbound.
(And yes, I’m totally reading the last book in the All Souls trilogy, because I have a fondness for crappily written pop-culture romances masquerading as sci-fi. This series gets a double pass because the second book is kind of like historical fiction, and what the author lacks in writing skills she makes up for in research skills. However, it gets significant demerits and potential defenestration for the not-even-thinly-disguised cultural agenda that nearly drowns the whole story, until the end, when you realize that it actually is the whole story. I dislike it when fiction is that crappily written. It’s like watching someone decide they can totally do what Picasso did, with just this can of spray paint and some poster board.)
Anyway, we’re home now. Sadly, my little Asus that couldn’t is pretty much completely useless now, since the T and the 2 keys no longer work, at all. I wouldn’t have thought that would have rendered it useless until I tried to type without a T. Holy crap, the letter T is basically in everything. It’s the most irritating thing in the world to try and type a quick email and realize what’s coming out is senseless gobbledygook so divorced from actual English that spellcheck can’t even fix it for you. My solution at present is to hook up an old keyboard to my Asus, which is okay except that as it turns out, an 11.6″ screen is actually really small when it’s sitting 2 feet away from you to make room for the keyboard and your wrists.
The first thing I noticed when we got home at 1 am on Sunday morning was that I never took our Easter wreath down. This is significantly less trashy than leaving Christmas lights up till July (or God help us, year-round) but it’s still pretty trashy. I’ve decided, though, that taking it down will only be an admission of guilt at this point, so I’m on the lookout for a plaque with JPII’s quote about how “we are an Easter people” that I can hang below it. That way it will be like I did it on purpose because I’m that holy, and I still won’t have to actually take the wreath down and put it away. Ever.
The second thing I noticed was that our house smelled musty and gross, which I tried to rectify by lighting scented candles. This was a terrible idea, because the smells mingled to create some unholy offspring of olfactory funk. The third thing I noticed was that we had forgotten to take the trash out, which oddly did not seem to be contributing to the smell, but we had helpfully left the lid to the trash can open. I cannot begin to remember the chain of events that contributed to this massive oversight, but like Scarlett O’Hara, I swore right then and there, as God as my witness, I’d never leave the trash lid open again.
The trash was crawling. I’m eternally grateful that it was not crawling with cockroaches or maggots, just these little weird tiny fruit-fly things. Still crawling though, and still disgusting. I closed the lid and the Ogre just picked the whole thing up and deposited it in the much larger trash can in the garage. And then I happily ordered the Simple Human trash can I’ve been wanting for ages but could not justify buying when we had a perfectly adequate trash can that the lid only fell off of every other day.
It only took me a day and a half to get everything unpacked and put away, which I think is a new record and I felt like I had reached some new summit of responsible. To reward myself, I did absolutely nothing this morning except binge-read The Book of Life, then to make up for it I had a solid hour of PRODUCTIVE PRODUCTIVITY, which I am now recovering from by rambling pointlessly instead of blogging about actual things I’ve been thinking about for the last month, like the intersection of traditional wedding vows with the Fifty Shades of Grey phenomenon, or how hilariously execrable the movie Lucy was, or why having pink hair might actually be making me a better person, or how Edel showed me just how much our online personas can be totally different, often unintentionally, from who we are in real life, and what that says about online interaction. Or how much I want a tattoo like Haley’s.
Speaking of Haley, I realized at Edel that I have literally no idea how to pronounce the word Michaelmas, and I was too embarrassed to ask anyone, so I just avoided saying it. I still have no idea how to pronounce it. This is both an English major fail and a convert fail. See, now I’m back to rambling. Sorry. Here, Allie Brosh has helpfully written an apologia for this blog post, and my entire life. You may go read it now, and then continue on with your surely more coherent lives. I have to go furiously vacuum and fold laundry for 2 hours before frittering away the rest of the evening on facebook. Ah, my life. I missed you!
This is Why I’ll Never be an Adult
I have repeatedly discovered that it is important for me not to surpass my capacity for responsibility. Over the years, this capacity has grown, but the results of exceeding it have not changed.
Normally, my capacity is exceeded gradually, through the accumulation of simple, daily tasks.
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