After enduring a day of Torture by Lecture - a little known tactic often used in Guantanamo, I  am completely drained and listless.   There was nothing I wouldn't have done to get out of my School Board Member Training session just a hour or two earlier. Even a minute or two less would have made me delirious with joy. I would have sold my son, dog and cat to a nice republican family for a nominal fee - if they would have just promised to release me at 3:00 instead of 4:00. We were told upon entering the torture zone that an early finish would be likely, but they just say that to give you false hope, only to shatter your dreams at 3:01 when there are still nine more subjects left to be discussed. They are evil and they lie.

I would love to share a little tidbit of information with you, something I gleaned from the seven hour read-along session of Power Point / divided folder fun. This is only one of the many interesting and enlightening subjects that were discussed:

'My Ebay' is my new home these days. It has also become my work, my entertainment and my new best friend. Every spring I feel the uncontrollable need to purge my excess goods. Regretfully, I possess many excess goods. I am an Accessory Bulimic. I purchase shoes and other accessories that at the time, I NEED, a lot. They lay around my closet a little while and then I decide that I probably won't wear them. I'm smart like that - with my uncanny forethought.

Sometime, the excess goods actually make it to a consignment store, which requires a great amount of due diligence on my part. The items have to be appropriate for the "retail season" and on hangers, preferably not covered in pet hair, and there is driving required. Then it's up to me to annoy the shop owner on a regular basis if I want to actually get paid for my items. I'm pretty sure there is a consignment shop in Westlake that still owes me for a Chanel chain belt I dropped off in1992. For these reasons, I'm Ebaying like a motherfucker.

I have spent days taking pictures, researching the best possible categories, and excavating more unwanted miscellany from my closets. Depending on my mindset, there really is no end. How much do I really need to keep?  I have never been a 'hoarder', and could not imagine the disabling feeling of not being able to give things up. I definitely lean towards the other side - these are all just THINGS, rarely with any attachments. I have the power to get rid of things and I am drunk with this power at the moment.

Hopefully, my items will sell and end up in another woman's closet who will treat them with the love and respect they deserve. I will be really heartbroken if they don't sell - all the time involved. If someone can sell an item such as this - LOT~KOTEX SUPER PLUS TAMPONS~TAMPAX TAMPONS~NEW~, I just know my stuff will go fast. I would have linked to the listing, but those darn tampons are a hot item, being how they were new and all. Winning bid - $.99 plus S/H, winning bidder - tim6162. Maybe it was the bold font that did the trick?

 

There is a fuzzy blanket covered lump sitting on the sofa, just sitting, sitting there day after day. I am wondering when it will go away.

It is so ill - so terribly ill, unable to get comfortable, can't even get it's pill.

The doc says it's a urinary tract infection, but I feel the need for further inspection.

The Cipro antibiotic does not seem like it's working. I've read that it cures anthrax, but may cause muscle jerking.

Could be the kidney's, could be worse. It thinks it's time to call the hearse.

Fuzzy-lumps can be so dramatic and they tend to overreact a bit. Just bring them grilled cheese sandwiches and forever they will sit and sit.

I need some fresh air and sunshine, I'm beginning to look pale. Taking care of fuzzy-lumps is hard! I'm no Flo Nightingale.


*I hope my fuzzy-lump gets better soon, as I can only handle "The Golf Chanel" for so long during the course of one day.

We were all sitting around the kitchen table discussing my Mom's birthday plans and trying to decide what kind of cake to get her. She had given me a few options, but wanted to be surprised. We couldn't decide between German Chocolate and Italian Cream. Sensing our conundrum with this decision, Evan passionately shouted, "YOU CAN'T LIVE LIFE WITHOUT CAKE!"  I assured him we would HAVE cake, we were merely having a hard time deciding on the flavor.

I was impressed with his profound statement. My son is not usually that emotional about anything - except his X-Box. My side of the family's genetic make-up includes chocolate flavored DNA. We have buttercream icing running through our veins. On the other side of the family, some of my in-laws actually turn down dessert - no great interest in sweets. Completely unfathomable.

I then called my Mom to tell her, "He's one of us." It was confirmed.

I could be going on a fun-filled ski trip or maybe a cruise around Antarctica - but no, I'm not that lucky or adventurous. It's that special time of year again when I get to revel in the moronic waste of taxpayer's money. I have saved the date of Friday, April 20th on my "To-Do" calendar with a great big .

The entire day will be consumed with mentally stimulating discussion lectures on topics such as, "Instruction in Open Meetings Requirements under Government code Chapter 551". WOW - I didn't have that section last year. I'm about to pee my capri pants! Do capri's look cute with caribou fur?

There is nothing worse than sitting for seven hours in the coldest room in Texas, while being subjected to state-government-training-crap. There is no greater time-suck for me. Preparedness is my forte, and since I know more of what to expect this time around, I have devised an elaborate plan. It seems as if I have approximately 49 days left to accomplish this.

If anyone is into dream interpretation I welcome you to expound upon this one:

I enter a penthouse suite in a historic downtown Austin hotel with Johnny Depp ( except he's not really 'him', he's Captain Jack Sparrow ). I pull back the covers on the antique four poster bed and there are bugs, rodent droppings and stains on the sheets toward the foot of the bed. Captain Jack goes downstairs to speak with the manager and I lock his drunken ass out of the room. I am so tired that I simply have to lie down and sleep in the bed - because obviously I am trapped and the floor would be no better?

I awoke screaming and shaky after I FELT a rat run across my shoulder. Seriously, I FELT it - that's what woke me up. I could still feel it on my skin! I am wide awake and have woken my husband ( who is not SO wide awake ). He grunts as if to say, "It's okay - go back to sleep". At least that is how I interpret his grunting. I get up and begin looking for my cat, thinking she must have gotten in our bedroom and is running around all willy nilly - waiting for just the right second to run across our bed. I don't find her. Worried that there must be something in our bedroom, my heart starts racing even faster than during the rodent moment - it's about to beat out of my chest.

"Honey, I think I'm having a heart attack!"

"Uh - huh, okay"

Panic attacks are really no fun at all. Especially when the one you love can't share the anxiety with you because he sleeps like a damn rock. I have not experienced a dream like that one in an extremely long time - where the physical sensation of something is so very real and terrifying. I'm wondering if childhood night terrors aren't simply anxiety attacks for little people? I can remember having these same types of dreams from a very young age.

On the way home from school today, Evan informed me that if a certain video game arrived in the mail - I AM SUPPOSED TO RETURN IT IMMEDIATELY! It was apparently so evil and corrupt that even Ted Haggard would have a difficult time stomaching its wretchedness. Shocked by his puritanical vigor, I questioned the reason for its IMMEDIATE RETURN.

He said it had lots of CUSS WORDS AND STUFF! I appreciated him being honest and having the forethought to know that I wouldn't really approve of such a game for a nine year old.  I asked how bad it was and if he would like to share any first letters of said cuss words - just for fun. He said it was the "D" word. Hmmm? I wondered silently if he and I were thinking of the same "D" word. Nope, we weren't.

"It says damn a whole lot!", he tells me.

I'm thinking to myself - "Are you 'for real' kid? How did you get like that? You are so angelic and good, and you haven't even attended a single day of church school ( or church )." He practically 'grounds' himself if he knows he deserves it. Amazing. I'll keep you posted on this matter when the teenage years blow into town. Really, I'm not that naive - things will change.

Evidently, he has judged and juried the parents of two of his friends who own the game. Their parents DON"T EVEN CARE about the bad language. He's probably calling Child Protective Services right now.