And The Journey Begins

The journey of a thousand miles begins with one single step -Lao Tzu

Welcome, everybody! Many of you are here as friends, family or previous readers of L3 who wanted to come along for the ride, and as happened in the previous projects I'm sure we'll have some new faces joining up with us along the way.

I wish I could explain where this all started. I wish I could do one of my Cosmic Conversations with God L3 was so known for, and make it funny, but I'm drawing a momentary blank. There are few things in life that I've come across that I couldn't summarize and poke some fun at but the transition of the last year is too impossibly complex. I'll work on it though. There's a lot to laugh at, I assure you. :P

Long story short, I turned 30 in July, and with it came the realization that I was neither happy nor unhappy with my life; that I had accomplished a great deal of everything and yet a great deal of nothing at the same time. And in August, still in the process of pondering the mediocrity of it all (yes I was still pondering it a month later), I was roughhousing with a lifeguard and broke my heel in half which turned out to be a rather serious injury, regardless of how unimpressive it may sound. And, yes, I can roughhouse with lifeguards while actively pondering mediocrity because multitasking is one of my many skills. However, if I had not been pondering it, I might have managed to push him in the pool instead of getting rudely chucked fully clothed into 3 feet of water.

Being locked down in the house, and spending countless hours watching Shutter and knitting gravely ugly hats, gave me plenty of down time to turn things over in my mind and concrete up some rather profound realizations.They are as follows:

1. I was unhappy with every single relationship in my life. Every single one. Past, present, future....... they all were totally unsatisfactory. I thoroughly enjoyed blaming everyone else for the first couple days of this realization, however, after mapping everyone's family trees out on graph paper I had to admit the only common denominator was myself, therefore I was to blame. This was not at all a pleasant thing to realize and I did not thoroughly enjoy it all.
2. My next profound realization was that my children were horrible at picking toys up and did not rinse the dishes properly.
   
3. At this point I switched from the movie Shutter to the movie The Grudge and started a different hat which naturally redirected my thought process to the fact that my parents raised me to believe I could do EVERYTHING, which is not at all the same as being raised believing one can do ANYTHING. Believing oneself capable of ANYTHING naturally routes into choosing SOMETHING whereas believing oneself capable of EVERYTHING leads to narcissism and general underachieving, both of which I am extremely guilty of.
4. I then noticed I had an average butt. I hadn't noticed this before. This was possibly the most traumitizing of them all.
   

So there it was. All laid out. I was an underachiever with unsatisfactory relationships, poorly rinsed dishes and a mediocre hiney. It was horrifying. It was also funny, but I tend to think most things are. I mean, where do you really go from there, knowing this about your life? The answer: you immediately blow up everything around you to see if the pieces land in a more satisfactory manner. And, believe it or not, they did, although I don't at all recommend this course of action for the faint of heart, and it was an evolutionary process type of recovery from the initial explosion. And, in all fariness, I will admit, that the people around me would vehemently deny that emotional sucicide bombing can be positive, but this isn't their blog so they don't get a vote; they're happy now, so that's all that matters.

As I emotionally poked, prodded and powerbombed everything around me, I took my foot which had a variety of braces, boots, and casts depending on what point you located me, and I begin to roam the neighborhood. By the way, this slowed the healing of my foot considerably and it was a stupid thing to do but, no matter because I don't regret it, so meh. I never turned the TV back on. I never sat back down. Sometimes with the crutches, usually without though, I wandered the city and through that experience my world got considerably bigger.

Each time I left the house, dragging my foot behind me, I found that I emotionally clarified and grew. Sometimes I came home with a solution to an immediate problem, sometimes I came home having finally emotionally sorted through something that had been following me around since I was 6. The more I moved, the more I healed, the more I healed, the more I was empowered to take action, and the more action I took, the more I found I was free from things that had been weighing me down, without me even realizing. I also lost a lot of weight rather quickly, but I'm supposed to pretend that losing jean sizes is less satisfactory than emotional growth. :P

And at some point during that process, I knew that I wanted to run; knew that I was going to run. Right or wrong, I felt deeply the desire to go farther and faster with my body and thusly, in theory, continue the journey of change that had begin, while slowly dragging a shattered foot up a hill to a grocery store. If you have ever tried to walk 3 feet in a NON WALKING cast without crutches, much less a mile, then you can understand the rather profound concept laid out above. If not, then pretend you do and look very impressed and inspired anyway. It's the polite thing to do.

I took my first official "run" in January when I had been released from all casts, braces and boots. I have run almost everyday since then, and the concept of healing has grown into a decision to take a year off to run, to heal, to grow, and to close chapters that have followed me for years. Forver Chasing Eve is my chronicle (started 2 months in, of course) of that year and of that journey. My goals are to run 2 half marathons this year and any smaller races I can fit in. I would like more than anything to close out this year with a bang, hopefully running a full marathon next January, but that goal is kept quiet and tucked close to the heart. Time will tell if it is possible, but as Ursula K. LeGuin said, "It is good to have an end to journey towards: but it is the journey that matters in the end."

Mime Your Own Business

Once upon a time I was absolutely sure that I should go to school to be a massage therapist. I got all the information, contacted the school, made googly eyes at Sallie Mae for a student loan and lined everything up, and then, I realized something: I have an absolutely paralyzing fear of women's thighs. I find them terrifying, and, after double checking with the massage instructors that thighs were on the massage menu, ran screaming away from that life direction. =silently pretends to sprint across the living room while checking behind her to make sure no thighs are in pursuit=

About 2 years ago, I began courses to become a childbirth educator & doula with a long term interest in midwifery. I must that I thoroughly enjoyed the experience and seemed to have found something that suited my rather specific area of life experience: procreating. However, about a week ago I had an epiphany: I have an absolutely paralyzing fear of women's thighs (sound familiar?). Now, why this didn't occur to me earlier I don't know. I have spent the last week trying to see if there any midwifes doing c-sections instead of the other route (which is smack dab in the middle of the thighs for any of you who haven't made the connection yet), but evidently this is highly frowned upon. Go figure. =silently pretends to deliver a baby with eyes closed and as if from a great distance away=

So I am selling all my textbooks, coursework and birth aids on ebay, and have decided to join the circus.

My original plan was to become a trapeze artist but the only practice trapeze I could find was from those kinky sex shops and I kept smashing into walls. Besides, truth is that I am not at all flexible and evidently the ability to touch one's toes is highly prized in trapeze artists. =silently attempts to touch toes and instead falls over into a non existent puddle of water=

So then I decided to become a trampolinist like those little bouncy kids in Japan. But unfortunately the only trampoline my apartment complex would let me have was one of those little living room rebounding ones. I have learned that the hard way that the only way anyone will pay to watch someone jump on a miniature trampoline is if you take your bra off. Won't fall for that twice! =silently realizes that she's been had and pretends to stomp off and slam a non existent but really heavy door=

I might have to give up joining the circus as I don't want to grow a beard, and Michael said he would smother me in my sleep if I keep pantomiming things =silently puts hands to cheeks and looks really, really, really alarmed=

Look Busy! Jesus Is Coming!

So it occurs to me this evening that not a great deal has occurred to me lately. I blame the swiftly approaching summertime heat and the impending end of the world. I suppose though that we should not necessarily stop all day to day activities while awaiting the apocalypse, and this entire train of thought reminds me of the bumper sticker that says "Look Busy! Jesus Is Coming!". =snort, snort, snort= (that's me laughing while eating M&Ms that I'm picking up from the floor with my toes. Now if I could only actually get the foot to my mouth and cut out the hand motion entirely then I would surely win an award for efficiency.............. Dexter left them on the floor, thank you for asking and making unmerited judgments about my housekeeping).

So Obama has clinched the nomination but Hillary is still in denial (see my previous post). I don't see how they could possibly not place her as the VP on his ticket. The entire election process has lost its appeal to me this go 'round, although I have to admit that I still find Obama disturbing (antichrist), and possibly (antichrist) a figure (antichrist) whose true character (antichrist) is yet to be fully revealed (antichrist). There's something under the surface (antivenom - ha you thought I had mindlessly typed antichrist again). Oh, and for any Obama zombies about to complain about my antichrist reference, just hush up. You don't believe in the antichrist anyway, so it's kind of like me calling your candidate the king gummy bear and master of ceremonies at the jedi knight's annual BBQ. In other words, a label that you can't necessarily object to as it is completely without context in your world. So meh, Obama zombie, now be gone.... go practice swooning.

Now for some random thoughts, aggressively grouped together in one paragraph. Langdon had a very good birthday. He is now officially "a whole hand". Dexter is without a doubt the most insanely male child ever birthed, made evident in bouts of attempts to beat us into submission, and then aggressively kiss us until we run away screaming. He is a child of extremes including acts of random destruction and mindless consumption - we find him highly amusing. Summer is very excited about her 13th birthday and is determined to have a 3 tier cake decorated in flowers and Transformers. I do not know where to find an Optimus Prime cake topper but I'm sure I'll figure it out by her birthday or she'll post on myspace that we failed her as parents and that no one understands her. Again. Lily is an extraordinarily gentle and loving human being who far surpasses me in maternal instincts and patience; she is also highly repetitive, but I don't know if she could surpass me in that. I mean I really don't know if she can overtake me in the ability to repeat the same thing over and over again. Because I just don' t know if that's possible. Mackenzie has grown a booty this year and is traumatized by it. She's the only one in the family to have a butt, and she finds it disconcerting, almost as if something is following her. I suppose all the junk in the trunk jokes don't help.

Pop Psychology Goes POOF

I must admit on the forefront of this discussion that I have never much subscribed to the pop psychology phenomenon. The self help movement experienced its heyday in the 90's and seems to have since relegated itself to overpriced, recycled "books" in pretentious bookstores, thriving on a much lower key with a small but loyal remnant of followers. Actually I believe it reinvented its persona and attached a bunch of new age hippie crap from the 70's and is growing among yuppies but that's another discussion. Let's keep to the one at hand, shall we? You're so hard to keep on track. Focus here people. We're talking bubble gum psychiatry here. You know the stuff.... a bunch of evangelical know nothings jumped the bandwagon and branched off to create their own version? Aw, I see you're with me. So, um, are you a sanguine? EXACTLY. Shame on you.

Now, it occurred to me the other night, why pop psychology was a failure. It all comes down to black holes in space. Stop looking at me like that. It makes you look stoopid. Now, pop psychology, like black holes, grew so fast that it imploded on itself unable to support the heavy masses of needy people seeking to all fix substantially different problems with the same band-aid, which, of course, always fails, Just ask FEMA, but the straw that broke the camel's back was simply this: the concept of DENIAL.

Now, I believe that cosmic conversation went something like so (this is a dramatic re-encactment and I can't be held liable for the accuracy because I was zoned out on Prozac when it all took place). By the way, the following transcript is best read with a Richard Hammondesqe British accent. Really, it is. Truly. Just try it. Now, on we go:

You: I think you have a problem and it is affecting our relationship. I finished reading my self help book from Barnes & Nobles and its description of your personality type and how it affects people around you, namely me, is both alarming and disheartening. We really have to deal with this. Together.

Me: I don't have any problem. I am eating a sandwich. If you read a book and came to the conclusion that there is a problem then it is your problem as I am, I repeat, innocently sitting here eating a sandwich.

You: Exactly. That's exactly what it said you would say. That is was my problem.

Me: But it is your problem, as I had no idea there was any problem until you arrived here spouting garbage about "our" problem, which was only "your" problem until you came here and announced it as "my" problem. Previous to your dire announcement, my only problem was that I had to pick the mold off my bread for my sandwich, which really was my sandwich's problem if you want to get technical.

You: So you're denying there's a problem.............. just like the book said. You're in denial. And shut up about your *&%$*%&# sandwich.

Me: I am not either in denial. And do you kiss your mother with that mouth?

You: Now you're denying being in denial! This is terrible! Much worse than I thought! And it just shows how little you know me because I don't kiss my mother! The last book I read enlightened me as to how her failure to bake halfway decent cookies was a blatant attack on my sexual development and I ended all contact. Now, back to the issue at hand.....

Me: I am not either denying being in denial because I'm not in denial! And what in the bloody hell does cookies have to do with puberty anyway? I mean, reaaaaally, how did they draw that connection?

You: Now you're trying to avoid the issue! You know what??? Knock! Knock!

Me: What? What are you babbling on about now? What is the matter with ............ oh, fine. (sigh) Who's there?

You: Cleopatra.

Me: Oh, for pity's sake. Cleopatra who?

You: Cleopatra, Queen of DENIAL! (sob, sob)! Why can't you admit that y0u're in denial?!?

...........and so the circle began of armchair psychologist analyzing all of their peers and common relationships with poorly defined random "problems", and when their diagnosis was rejected the rebuttal was immediately "You're in denial". This blatant abuse of a what was supposed to be a last resort cop out, er, approach destroyed the foundations of what was supposed to be a massive shift toward the generalized enlightenment of modern society. And thusly pop psychology imploded on itself, taking with it about 64% of legal marriages and the mental well being of countless casualties of underage children who couldn't for the life of them figure out why their parents divorced over a *&%$*%&# moldy sandwich.

I have no doubt that a great many people will disagree with me, but all I can say is that they are obviously in DENIAL about the whole situation. And if you disagree with that, then all I can say is that you are in denial about being in denial, which is terribly sad.

:)

Pomeranians & Piercings

This year for my birthday I am going to pierce my nose. Why, yes, I AM serious. For no other reason than I like tiny, little shiny things. Kind of like a bird who is willing to get run over on the freeway in exchange for a sequin. It also has significant personal meaning for me, but there's no point in trying to explain how an additional hole in a body part that already has 2 can hold biblical relevance.

I am also going to save up and buy an annoying, yapping miniature furball that can wear obnoxious sweaters and be called things like "pookie". Yes, I AM saying this with a straight face. I am going to save up for a mini Pomeranian, although I doubt I can afford a true micro and will instead have to get a purse/pocket size. More's the pity......... the micro ones are truly the most irritatingly cute. They actually make me throw up a little in my mouth they are so kawaii. Perhaps I'll commit true cute suicide and name it Bijou and teach it to potty in the toilet, and buying it little carpeted steps so it can sit on my bed and shed.

Michael is none too pleased with either of these developments, but in true Michael fashion has approved my pursuit of idiocy in hopes that I get sidetracked before July. The odds are in his favor actually. I have wandered off the clear path of many grand pursuits because I saw something shiny and became, figuratively speaking, of course, roadkill on the busy freeway of life.

This project will from henceforth be known as the Furball Fund and I highly recommend donating large sums of money to it. My family can donate to the cause because they find it highly amusing to complicate Michael's life with his wife's shenanigans (they had to put up with it for years after all), and his family can donate to it because an annoying, needy little dog almost guarantees that I won't have a reproductive relapse and try to procreate. Again. Note the "veiled" threat here.

And, no, I am NOT using up my Midlife Crisis. Believe me, you can write my current behavior off to possible just sheer stupidity, but when I have my midlife meltdown, you won't be able to mistake it for anything else.

Take Your House Plant To Vote Day

It's been awhile, hasn't it? I am undertaking a project, aptly entitled "Therapy for Thirty" that is analyzing and reconstructing weak points of my life from the top down. For those who have lost track, I am turning 30 this year, and I refuse to arrive at my thirtieth birthday with the same set of problems I had in my twenties. I plan on creating a whole new set of problems.

We are also currently struggling through a situation with the retarded girl next door. Granted, she is not technically retarded, but I think that if you spent any time with her at all you might feel less inclined to complain about such a politically incorrect moniker. She is trying to "become" part of our family by inserting herself into our life each and every night and I am just about to reach my breaking point. She's quite dreadful, and I think God is punishing me for something (and it must be something absolutely horrible to merit something like this). I keep trying to tell myself that it is an opportunity for us as a family to learn empathy and how to work through socially difficult situations in casual relationships. Unfortunately it is not working out. The younger girls are polite certainly, but Summer finds her repulsive to the max and has decided to start a blog entitled "Wisdom & Wit From The Retarded Girl Next Door". Michael vetoed it, of course, but I'm considering an override. I mean, some of the things that verbally vomit themselves out of this girls mouth really need to be recorded for posterity. Including the lie (and an odd lie that it was) brought forth this weekend that she was voted the most "Christ"like Basketball Player. Because Jesus was always up for a little one on one.... what? You didn't know that? You are an idiot. You see what I mean? Retarded.

Today is Super Tuesday, which is far more exciting for me than the Super Bowl by far. In fact, it only stands second to the actual election day and when politicians get publicly charged with tapping their feet at other "patrons" in public bathrooms. I also am rather keen on "Talk Like A Pirate Day" (my youngest son was born on that day!) and "Take Your House Plant For A Walk" day.

Dear Neighbors,

Dear Neighbors,

Now I consider myself a patient person in most respects. I am a mother of 5 and all of them have (so far) survived long enough to be counted in a general census. However, I have my limits and you pushed those this morning. Allow me to explain a few things about America that the border patrol immigration office seems to have forgotten to tell you when you snuck over the border with 112 of your buddies arrived here:

1. Americans are politically correct enough to pretend not to notice that you are here illegally and bleeding the life blood out of our government as long as you do not get cocky and start messing with us. You seem to have forgotten this. You should remember, very quickly.
2. Polka music is freaking retarded and so are you.
3. Having pictures of the virgin Mary in your car does not make me any more likely to miss you if I decide to shoot your retarded self & your stereo. I know this, because she is also a woman who once had a sleeping baby, and if your dumb asses had decided to blare polka music in the parking lot of Bethlehem at 6AM in the morning, she would have sent Joseph out to nail your ding dongs to the nearest utility pole. And she would have been justified in doing so, so how's that for sinless existence, you dweezilbots?
   
4. You are stupid. I hate you.
   
5. The movie Kill Bill has set a precedent for stalking down people who deserve to perish in dreadful ways and enacting such atrocities sans conscience. While Kill Pedro, or Kill Mario or even Kill Juan, for that matter, would probably be less appealing at the box office, I believe that the general concept holds and I have a video camera.

Anyway, consider yourselves warned (as IF you speak or write English). If you ever blare your crappy polka music at 6AM outside my apartment again, while laughing hysterically, I will........ TELL ON YOU. Yes, that's right. I will call the police for you disturbing the peace. I will call the office 3-4 times a day and complain every single time you so much as flush your toilet. I will call immigration and tell them you once said "jihad". I will call your mother and tell her that she is ugly and that she dresses you funny. I will call the Pope and tell him that he's ugly and dresses funny. I will haunt you until you run screaming back from whence you came with all your polka cds stapled to your ass.

Smoochies.

Peace On Earth & Goodwill Toward (quiet) Man

Peace on earth. There is never going to be peace on earth (actually there will be, but it's a roundabout process as described below). And I will tell you why. Because religious people are filled with stupid questions. That's why.

One of the grand past times of the church goers, is to parade around their buildings discussing in great detail the grand many ridiculous things they plan to "ask G-d" when they "get to Heaven". This boggles the mind. For this scenario, let's say we see the prophecies fulfilled in this lifetime. We are going to see a majority of the world's population slaughtered &/or maimed, a total transformation of the natural world as we know it, and a supernatural battle that will end in such a massacre that blood will be horse bridle deep for miles, and these silly people think that they are going to tap Yeshua on the shoulder and ask Him why the sky is blue as opposed to green, or some other such preposterous nonsense. Haven't these people ever heard of Google? Hmm?

My theory on this is that this is why it says that Yeshua will rule with a rod of iron. I think He will use it to smack people who ask stupid questions directly on their melon and thus bring about peace on earth.

I Am Caesar Sose!

I'm still rather alive, I quite assure you. I am going through my email and schtuff this afternoon, so to everyone I owe info & smoochies, watch for it to arrive sometime today. I am a tad late, but I am learning to embrace this aspect of my personality and so should you. I have no idea why you should embrace it, as it doesn't benefit anyone at all really, but pop psychology says that I'm OK and I wouldn't kick pop psychology out of bed for eating cheese and crackers.

This is the last day of our Hanukkah celebrations. I have to say that having a holiday last for 8 days is absolutely hilarious. I now fully comprehend Adam Sandler's quip (from the Hanukkah song) "Instead of one day of presents, we get 8 craaaazy nights -hee hee". Granted, we didn't do presents every night, and twice Michael had to work late, but overall I'd say we pulled it off rather well. Well enough, in fact, that our neighbor benevolently brought us pork sausage yesterday evening. I hadn't the heart to tell him about kosher, and instead thanked him profusely. With a straight face even. I've got this whole modest, non conceited thing totally handled. I am so unvain that I absolutely amaze myself. I am the least self absorbed person I know. In fact just the other day I was letting someone listen to me tell them about how all I do is think of other people first. Cause that's how I roll, all thoughtful and stuff. I am the queen of charity. I am the role model for modern society and, let's face it, the uncredited backbone of all advanced civilizations and............

Anyway, now we get to start preparations for Christmas. I objected, but was overruled in the court of Michael, which is not a particularly fair court, by the way, and ended my articulate and well planned objections with judicial threats like "I have a whole bag of shhshshshsh with your name on it". On the bright side, though, I now get to make a "gimme" list, which I have been working on all morning. It's amazing how the bar of expectations limbos wildly out of control the poorer you get. For example: I started out with a Kitchen Aid counter mixer, then realized that the was not going to happen. I then lowered the poll to this shirt from Target, but did the math and realized that I couldn't really tell the children that for Christmas Santa brought the whole family that shirt. I then lowered the bar to a used bath bubble maker from the thrift store, but it sold, and I finally settled on used lottery tickets and a half drank bottle of wine that's already in the fridge. The above of course is a total exaggeration and I suppose that I must admit that there really is no truth to it at all (except wanting to the mixer and the shirt). I'm afraid that my conscience gets to me during the holidays regarding these things, but I promise to return to being a conscienceless liar come January.

Pope Paper Dolls

Many people do not believe that the world is ending. However, the fact that you can purchase paper dolls of a pope makes my case for me in its entirety. I'm headed for my secret underground lair, but not before I pick up my scratch 'n' sniff stickers of Jim Jones................. mmmmm, smells like Kool-Aid.............

I Flung A Cake In A Thankful Manner

Yes, I did. It stuck to the pan, and I was slowly trying to remove it from said pan while maintaining a very starchy smile and all of a sudden I flung it. Actually, I am making the claim that it flung itself when it realized how badly it was maimed but I can't prove that.............

Lily has been sick for many days. Langdon has been sick for several days. Dexter has been sick for a couple of days and Summer is on day one. I am absolutely positive it is bird flu, but Michael claims it is just a rather nasty bout of the common cold. Michael really has no imagination in such matters, although when he has spent most of the day roaring about the house threatening to give Dexter to gypsies which I thought was a rather creative solution. And I can't much blame him as Dexter is the kind of child who turns young mothers gray haired and sterile on a good day, so you can surely imagine him with bird flu a nasty cold. He is on hour 32 of screaming his bloody head off and I openly admit that I have researched my current birth control method twice seeking solace in the fact that the odds are in my favor not to reproduce another alien species who preys upon the lifeblood of the unsuspecting child. Of course, he was conceived practically immaculately in the first place, so I often ponder if the reason he is so grumpy is that he knows we were actively trying to avoid him at all costs, but I digress.

Today has given me renewed respect for my family's matriarchs who produced many a grand Thanksgiving dinner, and made it look like something humanly possible. I'm off to make gonocche (it is spelled wrong and I don't give a rat's tushy) icing for the sliver of cake I scraped off the kitchen floor and I plan to carry it to the table with a straight face. If any of my cherub like offspring so much as even make a face, I plan on finishing off whatever glass of white wine I am currently on at the time (and I'm knee deep in the bottle now) and then eating them. In a thankful manner, of course. Happy Thanksgiving.

Pirates Eat Jehovah Witnesses. Everyone Knows This.

The Jehovah Witnesses stopped by today. I have been living on my own now for almost 14 years (don't do the math or you might figure out that I was a runaway teenager who needed a nasty whipping and some major time spent in working the progression of traditional Greek sentence structuring, but I digress........), and I have yet to find a satisfactory way to deal with them. It's a very Seinfeld sort of experience for me where I mumble something about homemade gravy and eternal damnation before slamming the door on them, and then going "AAAAAAH! I should've said - insert any witty thought that was thought too late here!"

I think the girls and I figured it out today. We are making a sign to store by the door so that when they knock we can kindly open it, post our sign and demurely shut it again. Here's what the sign says:

Aaaargh! We're Pirates!

Prozac For The Poor

I have decided to start a seasonal charity called "Prozac For Poor People". Our main activity will be flinging antidepressants at random window shoppers during the holiday season. On days when it is too cold to get out and about, I plan to sit in my living room all day throwing Prozac at myself.

Eating Little Trees

Decapitation & Other Amusing Anomolies

I know, I know............... I can only imagine how annoyed some of you are getting at how often I change locations online. I can't help it! I have the attention span of a retarded gnat, and labor under delusions of grandeur greatly multiplied by antidepressants and slushies.....

Besides, in my defense, the other site wasn't particularly conducive to writing. You simply would not believe the amount of times I sat down to write something over the past couple of months and failed. Miserably. I think it was the fact that their text editor was stone age and included a smilie face icon that just stared and stared and stared at you while you typed. I do not like being stared at. Also worth noting, is that I would accept membership after membership and try to let people in and it wouldn't work. That drove me absolutely stark raving mad; I'm talking The Yellow Wallpaper type mad, which is, literarily speaking, wacky tack out of one's mind. I do not know if literarily is a word, although literariness is in fact a word, yet it seems all around less useful than literarily would be supposing it existed at all.

I don’t like to look out of the windows even—there are so many of those creeping women, and they creep so fast. I wonder if they all come out of that wall-paper as I did?

- quote from The Yellow Wallpaper

Anyway, we are doing well here, although we've had a few stabbings in our apartment complex which is absolutely odd since it is quite lovely and all around quaint and serene. Granted, things are not as they appear but I don't think we are in any danger and I don't suspect, being an avid devotee of the 5'0clock news, that we would fare better anywhere else in such a large city. It seems that stabbing each other is an accepted past time here, and it really doesn't drive property values down or even particularly interest the neighbors unless decapitation is involved for which it rarely is. In fact, seeing as we can't afford the cinema, I have to say that the occasional neighborhood knife dispute has served as more than one evening's source of great entertainment, and also as an ice breaker with our new neighbors who aren't stabbing each other at that moment. For example, here is a transcript of an actual likely conversation while the police tape things off: So, who stabbed whom? Is that your car? I don't believe we've met, but I have been receiving your newspaper for weeks now. I say, was there decapitation involved?