blatherings

blatherings
the shallow side

Breakfast of Wilfred Brimley

In order to study for my comprehension exam in French which I will have to take this summer, I should be reading en Francais. I don’t, for a number of reasons, although I do ready the little sayings on the packages of oatmeal. First in French, make a guess as to meaning, and then in English to see if I’m right. I know that proverbs are difficult to translate at the best of time, but this is kinda fun. Today's: Le bonheur ne s’achete pas. Which I read as: You can’t buy happiness. According to the lovely people at Quaker Oats, the actual sentiment is: Happiness is not a by-product.

And that is what I would like to discuss. There is that awful poster high school guidance councilors have in their office that reads “Happiness is not a station you arrive at, rather it is a means of transport” or something of the sort.

So what do you think? Is happiness something that occurs while you are focusing on other things? Does one simply decide to be happy? Or do the poster and the package say the same thing - you don’t magically become happy after accomplishing something....

oh, and I apologize for the lack of accents, they are rather annoying to obtain.
8.2.05 22:24


merp.

My head hurts.  There is a bunch of stuff I want to write about, but I hurt.  So, I'm going to take a bunch of drugs, try to sleep and get back at it in the morning.


night.
11.2.05 10:40


grumble

My head still hurts.  I’ve had three meals today, a nice walk with Kvitsh, a few glasses of juice and the windows are open giving me some nice fresh air.  WHY DOES MY FUCKING HEAD STILL HURT?  It cleared while Kvitsh and I were out walking… Maybe it was the anticipation of searching for mythical ‘will actually fit me’ boots.  Instead I had to be satisfied with a pair of jeans and a plaid umbrella.  I thought I would try again tomorrow but I still have a story to write for Wednesday and a bunch of stuff for the ninja death squad that needs to be done for tomorrow night.  I’m chipping away at it now because I can’t sleep and don’t feel like writing with a headache…
12.2.05 11:20


sleepyhead

Typically I wake up on Saturday to Poonam calling between 11 and 12.30. She’s always very apologetic although I try to assure her I appreciate it. I get out of bed when the phone rings and then have to talk which makes my brain move and then I’m awake enough to stay out of bed. Even putting my alarm clock on the other side of the room isn’t helping so much these days. Anyway, today she called at 2.30. So that’s when I woke up. True, I was up till 6 so that’s a little more than 8 hours, but still, I have ninjas to play with, a house to clean, a story to write, and I’m going dancing tonight, so I need to get on with it.

I need to arrange a wake up call. Only what they do in hotels is just disturbing – there isn’t anyone on the other end. It freaks me out.
13.2.05 01:16


such a full day of nothing

So, I haven’t actually accomplished anything yet today. Technically, I mean, I did stuff. Poonam and her kids picked me up, we went to Elephants Never Forget and then Carole’s Sweets and then for a dip in the hot tub at work (because ninja’s get sore muscles) and then we had dinner and I got to hold babies and young kids and have strange conversations and ask questions like “do you have to go to the bathroom right now” which really,I don’t ask all that often.

But in terms of like house work or writing or any of the other things I said I would do today... well, lets just say I had quality time with the walking embodiment of birth control. Although Poonam and I hardly got a chance to gab because when you are with kids, they expect attention.

So she’s given me a deadline. I need to have a page and a half written by... well, the time keeps disappearing as I write this, so really, I have about an hour left.

I’ll just go put a load of laundry through.
14.2.05 06:46


So far

I woke up to the bulding's fire alarm, which is unpleasant. I lay in bed trying to decide if it was a false alarm until I heard the fire trucks pull up outside. I pulled on my clothes, and left. I posted a letter, went to a coffee shop for other than coffee and read trashy out of date magazines. It was fun. Only now I'm home, tired and my arms are sore from hauling babies yesterday.

I'm giving myself a half hour for breakfast and general futzing around on-line. And then I'm going to write a story. really.
14.2.05 21:37


When Kvitsh first really got into blogging we ran into the problem that I would read her blog and then we'd go for a walk and she would recount things that occurred to her that day. And frequently these same events/thoughts were the very ones she had blogged about. It actually put a bit of a strain on our relationship. We didn’t really have any good conversations for about a month. And aside from screaming words like “cunt” at each other, all she and I have are good conversations.

Today, when we went walking I started to tell her something and topped noting the pained expression on her face. Apparently I was telling her what I blogged earlier. It felt good.

So, I’ve had a fresh story start. I’m a few pages in and its moving nicely. But that’s not what I wanted to tell you about.... No, that would be jinxing myself, and I don’t need to cause myself any more stress then I already do.... What I wanted ot tell you has to do with root beer. You see, I don’t drink. I did have some drinks when we went dancing Saturday but the resulting head ache was traumatic and couldn’t be justified with sloppy dancing and slurred speech. Before that, the last time I had booze was when Kvitsh took me for a belated birthday dinner where we dinned on margaritas which I spilled all over myself and the nice folks at the High Level Diner provided me with a cook’s shirt so I could keep drinking.

But I like drinking. I like taking a beer, hearing the whoosh as you crack it open and taking a nice long belt from a glass bottle. And so I say thank goddness for Stewart’s Root Beer. It provides me with all the joy of drinking a beer, without having to, you know, actually drink a beer.

Oh, and I need to repent of what I wrote about Lowest of the Low and their new album, Sordid Fiction. I put it in so i could copy The LAst Recidivist ot my computer and started doing something so the rest of the album played. And then I kept pressing play. I’ve been listening to it all day and it is growing on me.
15.2.05 08:23


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