A few musings of questionable value

It's a very unbeautiful day in the neighborhood, but won't you be mine? I mean, won't you be mine? I am sitting in the horrifically compressed local library surrounded by the usual cast of bizarre characters, including one woman who looks like she just swallowed a giant lemon. I kind of want to bitchslap her, but then again, I am PMS'ing. You know the drill, fellow females.

Speaking of fellow females, I found out that a friend of mine has cancer. I don't know what to say, much less to do, other than to visit her soon and try to listen. She is very young to have this form of cancer, and it's obvious to me that life is, as usual, unfair as hell. I do not know if she will live, since it's in the late stages of the disease, but she is receiving chemo treatments. She's a wonderful person, and I guess Billy Joel had it right when he sang only the good die young. In this case, I hope that I won't have to sing that song at her funeral. God forbid! I curse the thought as I speak.

So, that's a very serious matter I cannot joke about. I can joke about other things, like being perpetually stressed, broke, and forever scrambling to get anything met. Like, you know, your needs and all that. There is actually some self-help book called Your Needs Met, and it's full of cheerful little prayers that seem to establish an unswerving belief in God. My belief in God has basically been run over repeatedly by a mac Truck, but hey, that's the case with many people. Mac understands, too.

Over the weekend I went to a very strange metaphysical church. At the end of the service we actually stood in a circle and sang a song about peace. I almost died laughing, but at least it wasn't Kumbaya, Lord. Then I would have dissolved on the floor, and been summarily kicked out.

Ah, well. My stress levels continue their toxic rise, but I have a joyous and forgiving heart, I am calm, and today, all my needs will be met! I have courage, strength, and wisdom. And God, I wish I had cable TV in my room.

May your day be very kumbaya-like.

The Healing Power of Adoption

A quick ramble through the toxic waste of my weary mind pulls up the following factoid: Angelina Jolie has adopted another child! This news is on par with many major historical events, such as the first coming of Christ and the day that the Beatles declared themselves to be more important than that erstwhile savior. Ah, Jolie, Jolie, we never knew ye.

Anyway, she appears to adopt children at the same rate that she gets yet another tattoo, and maybe the children will last longer than the tattoos: hey, you never know! I am kind of wondering how long this adoption frenzy/I am not married to the adoptive father of my children but damn, ain't he pretty thing is going to go on for, but you know, it's also kind of exciting to contemplate. The Pitt-Jolie splitsville major network event would be highly entertaining, and I don't just say this because I watched "Cruel Intentions" last night. That's the remake of the Victor Hugo book for the WB set, and stars Buffy, Ryan Witherspoon, and Ryan Phillipe, her former husband. It's a nice little distraction, although hardly weighty. But, I digress.

Anyway, the world of celebrity is weirder than the world of people who attend comic book conventions, and yet there is something similar between the two. Maybe it's that they're both shiny and colorful? I dunno, I'm just a peon in her thirties living in her hometown who daydreams obsessively about Jude Law. Oh yeah, and sometimes Alec Baldwin: an older man might be nice for a change! Or hell, any man, but I'll save that diatribe for my therapist when I find her. My old one went far, far away, leaving me to ponder the fickle perfidy of all human beings. Hey, I'm only human myself!

I leave you with these two fine thoughts: one, that nothing is so bad it can't be conquered by ingesting chocolate and, that human beings tend to survive. Oh, we do.

I wish you the healing power of resilience, and so much more. Adieu.

Oh yeah: I'm available for adoption, Ms. Jolie. If you're reading.

Lots o'pissing for the pot

Ah, blogging, blogging! My online journal has kept me sane for far too long now, but considering it's done in fits and starts, all is well, all is well.

I am insanely tired and stressed and ready to throw both of my parents out the window. Life lately is a school of pain, loss, rejection, fatigue, and other things that make up great novels by Charles Dickens. I am wondering when my husband will appear, or even if this man exists, which is doubtful. For those of you who are shy with the opposite sex, especially when any kind of like or attraction is involved, you will know exactly what I'm talkin' about, Willis.

At any rate, the world is becoming, according to our 24-7 media, a far more scary place than previously glimpsed in any movie by Joel Schumacher. Just kidding! I have nothing against the man, but he's always being beaten up by the very critical movie press. I guess they're jealous of the dude; I can surmise nothing else. People who inspire such jaundiced, bitter, awful criticism must be inciting and/or stirring up some kind of envy.

In other rivteing news it is warm here in ye olde New England today, and I am still enjoying the viewpoint of the folks on gawker.com My older brother, who is an asshole most of the time, failed to recognize my birthday, as did my Aunt, who has her own emotional issues. I will retaliate through the power of pure, sugary-sweet kindness, and thus make them both feel like asses. You can see my Catholic school upbringing has stood me in good stead.

I am almost done with my book. Yay! Yay! Yay for me! I am very excited and pleased and proud although at this point I think it's the worst fucking crap ever written. I would also like to sleep for five days, although my father believes that grown children who live in his house should be gone as much as possible, which makes it hard to rest. It's hard to rest in general, especially when everyone seems afflicted with post-traumatic stress disorder and you live in a country where introverts are regarded with the same general suspicion levied towards the tax man. Ah, it's hard to be alive, but a good healthy existential crisis is invigorating folks, really!

I would like to audition for another play. I did this recently and really enjoyed it, although I didn't get the part. I miss having my own space in which to write songs, like I used to when I lived in Maryland in a scrubby apartment where many mice (ugh) liked to nest in the walls. My landlord was a completely horrible Dickensian like creature. You haven't seen ugly 'till you've seen him.

Well, I must flee. Be well.

Spew, coffee, the demolishment of the senses

Life right now, my dear ones, is about as fun as an aortal hernia. At least, this is what I suppose, although I have never had one myself. The other day a friend of a friend was discussing hers with me, and I decided that, judgin from her description, it would be better to have your toenails removed by a pair of rusty pliers. But again, folks, that's just me!

It is less cold here in oh so friendly New England, land that I love, and due to the demolishment of a prior roosting place I have descended upon a church library. It is a nice, generally quiet place with employees with only minimal attitude problems: I am learning to let other people's stuff be just that, THEIR stuff. It's SO heartwarming, my friends! At any rate, I was in the mood to blog, while I watch the assistant efficiently clear away the coffee. I wish she would be of sound mind to simply leave it there, but alas, some people are so very intent on their tasks! Alas and alack. I suppose that's why the work ethic was invented, so that idle hands would not become the devil's play, or whatever cliche I'm mangling. When coffee is involved, I think a fresh pot should be kept forever brewing. Just my opinion.

I have signed up with a website devoted to helping people with depression find other people with which to talk to about said depression. Forgive me; I was an English major. It's called lonelynomore.com and it's really a rather nice website. There are people with all kinds of mental illness on there, actually, but also people suffering from "simple" anxiety and depression. If you are of like mind, I do recommend it. One c', two mm's? I can never remember.

I am also suffering from something besides lack of coffee, namely with living with my parents, which means that I leave the house every morning wishing I had a set of explosives and a considerably less moral viewpoint. On blowing up houses, naturally. I'm $#*$# pissed in general these days, and could use a long, carthartic session of screaming at the top of my lungs in my car. My mother's, of course -- mine went the way of the dodo a few years back, but I really don't mind taking public transportation. Screaming on a bus is just a tad different, but of course! Although it might be quite fun, actually. Heh, heh, heh.

Ah, life. Converting pain into humor, darkness into light, a never-ending, very tedious process at times, but that's OK! It keeps us busy, it does.

And have a good day, all.