Posts in Tortured Soul
Oh, I KID! I love hearing the signs of Spring! Cawing crow and distant chainsaw, I HEAR YOU. I also see the sun setting later, like it’s November, BUT IT ISN’T. If Winter were actually a six-month marathon, I’d shove so much grain-free chips and guacamole in my fanny pack, stock my running-bandolier with a variety of hydration gels and, ONCE AGAIN, salute the outdoors for being a worthy adversary.
But that’s silly! Guacamole would turn brown and my chips would get stale! I will just stream movies, write cards, and fashion the hair I pull off my sweater into a wreath.
How could my mom have known when I was born I’d spend so much time trying to get Martha Stewart‘s attention?
And so little time in the space program?? Silly mom! Didn’t she know that Martha’s career as a stockbroker was about to be traded for a career in the catering business? And that I would hate wearing helmets??
I do challenge Martha to prepare a fennel and smoked salmon salad in zero-gravity while I set my lead type to create a greeting card for the disadvantaged masses.
HOW ABOUT IT, MARTHA??
I scream that repeatedly the morning after a substantial snowfall – it’s really helpful and my family appreciates it so much.
When I’m done warning everyone on my block, I always feel inspired:
Don’t you hate when your Mom recommends movies crammed with compound fractures and skull-stomping
and you can only salvage your emotional health by writing/designing a Valentine’s Day card?
Is it wrong that I was more concerned about getting a good photograph of today’s event than of my house being engulfed in flames?
And why was the fireman so happy?
I guess he just loves the outdoors as much as I do! -12° makes me smile and laugh, too — and I’m not even a sociopath!
After the smoke cleared (LITERALLY), I made a Valentine’s Day card and called 911 to give it to him:
I wish I had a vintage Christmas tree stand that rotated and played music.
JUST KIDDING! I do! That music-box music fills me with Peace n’ Joy so I don’t freak out on Sears Customer Service for not hauling away my old appliances. JUST KIDDING! I still freaked out on them!
(24) YEARS ago (and a couple weeks before Christmas) my friend asked me how much I loved ornaments for the tree. I told her that I DIDN’T love ornaments for the tree. I just liked strings of lights. And MAYBE those glass balls.
She tried to talk me into loving them, but I insisted that I did not. Fast forward to Christmas Day, and under my nearly-naked tree, she had placed a giant box filled with ornaments that she had lovingly gathered over the year. Let me repeat that last part: THAT SHE HAD LOVINGLY GATHERED OVER THE YEAR.
Am I the worst friend ever? MAYBE. One more thing: I also forgot her birthday a couple years later. WHY IS SHE STILL FRIENDS WITH ME??
Shhh… Forget that story and observe Tib hating Dinah for sitting in her chair:
ALSO, here’s a Christmas card I made after I was done yelling at Sears:
I’ve already not been murdered by a Craigslist poster selling firewood and done (most) of my Christmas Shopping via Amazon. If I were born 50 years earlier my house would be freezing and my kids would cry hearty tears on Christmas Morning. I can only praise newborn baby Jesus for my easy-peasy life. (Sorry that when He grew up He had to be tortured and die and stuff.)
ANYWAY, the fire is roaring and UPS is delivering whatever my warm-ish heart desires. Isn’t that what this Season is all about?? Between my online-obsession and stoking the fire, I channeled some important words spoken by the Virgin Mary:
I spend my days and nights writing and designing… Feverish and barely stopping to eat, I create.
If only I had my own Antonio Salieri. IF ONLY. I wrote a Christmas card. Or whatever.
Between stalking housepets
and watching scandalous/made-for-Netflix adaptations of Margaret Atwood novels,
I’ve been working on THE PERFECT thank you card to stuff in our online orders. Jen and the Intern keep rejecting everything I make and that’s really hard on my fragile ego.
It never bothered me that the lenses in my glasses were rubber cemented into place and the rubber cement collected sand. I ditched those glasses under a fold in my beach towel so I could run down to the ocean and freely forage for low-tide sea creatures.
It was a free-range life! I wasn’t tethered by social convention! Or hygiene! Fast forward 35 years and I’m still leading a free-range life. Not tethered by social convention! Or hygiene! Today, our press lurched and lunged as if possessed but it was nothing a plastic shim couldn’t fix. See, free-range living!
That’s a filthy, oil-soaked floor and Jen throws cards to the ground when she’s angry. She leads a free-range lifestyle too! THAT’S HOW WE MAKE IT WORK.
(FYI: This is how our beloved C&P looks when Jen isn’t angry:)
Speaking of free-range, I made a new card for all of you (non-vegetarian) LOVERS out there.