Well. Yes. It is. I can scarcely believe that it has been nearly a solid month since I’ve posted a scathing indictment of anything or anyone. Fuck me. I have been rolling around in a hell of proportions I never imagined achievable. Anything that can keep me from writing for a whole fucking month is obviously the work of Satan. Or Charlie Sheen. Wait. That’s the same.
Torture is what I’ve been through. That’s right. Witnessing utterly stupid shit in the world and NOT being able to comment has been torture worse than having my skin ripped off, although I rather like that idea if the underlying fat comes off with it. Hmmm. But I digress.
I previously reported that I moved from the unholy, apocalyptically hot and humid, cock roach breeding ground that is Georgia to the much more temperate-but-so-far-right-wing-its-inhabitants-all-walk-with-a-starboard-list land of Indiana. What? There IS more than corn here. It’s just all really conservative and thinks you’re going to hell.
The weather has been pretty pleasant, and we’ve only had three tornado warnings since July. But the physical move to this new home full of promise felt more like a series of catastrophic illnesses requiring surgery without anesthesia. And on top of that, before I’d even recovered, our fam decided to take a cross-country vaca. In the car. Yes. Yes. 70 + hours of sitting on summer-warmed leather seats, crammed up to the dashboard as far as the seat would take me. Mm mm mm. I want to do that again really soon. Because I like for my ass to appear even wider and flatter. And the muscle and joint pains that have settled in for the long haul are simply welcome reminders that I am fucking ALIVE. (Bullshit. People who think that way are reformed crack addicts anxiously eyeing that new meth lab on the block.)
I can’t even begin to explain all the vexation that has blossomed like a vaginal yeast infection in swimsuit season since we got back from the West Coast. So I won’t. Suffice it to say that if you look up that Biblical complainer, Job, in the dictionary, it says, “You pussy. You call that suffering? You have no idea what it is like to truly agonize, you son of a bitch. Why don’t you strap on a tenth of the adversity that Bloggurl has had in the last month, and then see if you’re still worthy of being called a man. You fucking whiner.”
Yes, huh. It really does say that.
The good news is that I’m baaaaaack. I have so much to do my brain is close to detonating, but I’m back. Yay. Let the bitching resume.
"Show, don't tell," Bloggurl; that's what Sheyenne would remind you. "Show, don't tell."
ReplyDeleteYour fans want pictures painted. They want details. From the move itself, fraught with dysfunction after dysfunction; to the beloved UHaul's insurance bean-counters who elected to reject your request that they honor your claim for damage to the car you tried to bring along on their transport (ah...that "fine print" that was invisible ink until they needed it to reinforce their riches bites us in the ass again); to a Titanic filled with unreturned phone calls from minions "away from their desks or on the other line"; to the legions of nefarious souls whose primary purpose in life seems to be preventing you from doing what you are called to do (i.e., write) by injecting all manner of incompetence into your life. It's time to put in their place these useless and overpaid parasites on our lives (your life in particular). If only attorneys weren't such a greedy group, one might volunteer to "take arms against [your] sea of troubles, and by opposing, end them."
Show, don't tell, Bloggurl. Every obscene and astounding tale, like Stephen King might tell except without the talking pets. Maybe somewhere a saint might appear (a financially well-endowed saint) and expunge all the idiocy that persists in raising its ugly head and interfering with you accomplishing your mission in life: to tell the truth.
Hess
I can't begin to tell you how glad I am that you are back! I have missed you! I have been going through the mill as well, so I haven't had time to read your blog or write in mine. I am back as well, your faithful reader. Keep it coming. I am just about caught up now.
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