Molehill Into mountain

Oy. I needed to lie down for a bit. While I was not napping, Sprout decided to take her scissors and cut up the lounge cushion, on the side that was still sound, and pull out some of the stuffing.

She has been dealt with, I don't need advice or admonishment about that.

I'm frustrated because she KNOWS not to do that. We all like the lounge, but this may be the death knell for it. I can repair a lot, but this? May be beyond my skill given where the cut is and the use that particular piece of furniture gets.

Sigh.

If I have to toss it, I'm leaving that space empty until I can get something NEW to put there...not a hand-me-down or cast off (mind you, I'm not saying those haven't been grand because if it weren't for hand-me-downs and cast offs I'd have had very little living room furniture and it's been just fine but sometimes a gal wants something new and right now I could USE something new and I'm willing to wait for it and maybe we aren't just talking about furniture here), but something I choose that suits me.

Double sigh.

Can't see that happening any time soon.

And for some reason I just want to cry and curl into a ball and give up.

When I said I wanted to declutter and purge, I didn't mean the things we actually use.

How to Save a Life in Three Easy Steps

Step One - go to my friend Rachel's blog, the Waxing Moon.

Step Two - read her posts about Trevor, the dog.

Step Three - stage a midnight requisition of one canine from the Whitehorse animal shelter (although how they're a shelter when they kill the creatures they're supposed to be rescuing is beyond me) and ship it to a certain Blue Witch in Georgia, where she is fairly certain they won't think to look for him, or bother to come fetch him. Fetch...something he deserves a chance at again, I think...

My fellow humans, for the love of all you hold sacred and dear...think...THINK...before you make another life your responsibility. Think about the consequences of your actions (or lack of them) before you drag some poor mutt into your chaos. This sort of thing is shameful, a blot on the collective soul of humanity...and I have some very unpleasant opinions about the specific woman who lied and cheated to get this dog and is now costing a life. Oh, wait, it's just a dog, though, no biggie...

Grr...

Financial Fear Factor

Afraid? Why would I be afraid? Just because we went more than three-hundred dollars into the hole since the last paycheck (it was a domino thing, not an willful spending of what's not there, which makes it all the more frustrating), and we not only have bills to pay (some of which are of the "past due, we're going to shut you off you deadbeat, no you can't defer or pay them next paycheck we want our money now" variety), but there's a major, food-related holiday coming after the next paycheck but before another one.

So why would I feel dread at the prospect of going to the market? Perhaps because I am daft enough to host Thanksgiving here? Actually, I rather enjoy the day...I love to cook, and love to share a good meal with friends, family, and heck...even strangers off the street. No one goes hungry if I can help it...unless it's me, and that's OK because I bet I could live for a month off the fat in my forty-nine-and-a-half acre ass. Yeah, it used to be fifty-acre, but I managed to shed twenty pounds, and I figure that's worth a half acre, right??

No, it's not Thanksgiving that has me stressed - I can do the whole thing without breaking the bank because I love to cook and don't have to buy more expensive convenience foods - no it's the rest of the next two weeks that has me worried. And the coming gift-giving holiday that I've taken to calling "Christmahannukwanzuka" to save time, even though I'm pagan and celebrate Yule.

So we have nothing in savings, nothing but a huge hole in checking, and I have to figure out how to feed three adults, one child, three cats, the feral cats outdoors, and anyone else who needs feeding, for two weeks...for less than two-hundred dollars, and that still leaves bills unpaid.

Good thing I know how to make soup, huh??

Meanwhile, I've already decided that, except for a few people whose gifts I already have or am planning to make with my (extensive, thank you Goddess) yarn or fabric stashes, everyone's getting donations to varying charities for the gift-giving holiday of their choice. Sorry if that spoils it for anyone...but my concern over paying the power bill and resulting need to blog about it trumps your need to be surprised. You have over one moth to forget or practice faking surprised delight. Get to it.

I know we're all feeling the pinch...but good Goddess, I am so tired of it... It would be nice, for a change, to go to the grocery store and feel free to purchase fresh fruit when we need it, and not just once a month when we can squeeze it into the budget. I'd like to tell T "Go ahead and drink all the milk you want, I'll go get more..." instead of yelling at him for finishing it off.

And beneath it all is the feeling that it's my fault because I don't work outside the home, or for pay - I school my child and write, neither of which garners remuneration (<---I have been misspelling this word for years - d'oh!!). Sigh. The burden falls to T, who is trying like crazy to supplement his income without detracting from family time...

Sigh, again.

Tomorrow, something a little less self-pitying and a little more uplifting...I promise.

Here There Be Dragons

I am trying to let go of some anger right now, because it is making me physically ill; I've had a headache since Wednesday, my neck is seizing up, my stomach is roiling, and worst of all I am short-tempered with Bird, who deserves better.

I took him with me last night because he didn't deserve to be cloistered with Mad Mommy in Casa de Crazy all night. This evening we went out so he could play with a friend, because I didn't want to sit at home and snap at him until I got so pissed off I wanted to lock him in his room just for being a normal, healthy, active little kid.

I don't feel like explaining why I'm angry. Honestly, I started to - it got long. I mean, even for me, it was too freakin' long, and y'all know I'm all about some War and Peace type entries. It got personal, and it got hurtful, and I was just getting angrier, and I decided it just wasn't worth the effort.

So now I'm writing this instead. Really, we're all better off. Well, maybe not me - I still feel like shit.

I am seriously considering taking my kid, selling the one thing of monetary value I have besides my van (the family heirloom diamond engagement ring that my mother wore and passed on to me, the stone for which one of my ancestors dug up from an Egyptian tomb a bazillion years ago and had cut at Tiffany's - OK, long story I'll tell later), and going on a two week cruise where he's in child-care all day having fun with camp counselors and other kids and I sit on the deck and drink stuff I can't pronounce but that makes my face go numb, flirting unsuccessfully with bartenders, cabana boys, and anyone who doesn't run away in abject fear - all without a cell phone and without telling anyone exactly where we've gone or when we'll be back because I just don't think they'd miss us or even notice we'd gone. Maybe Mum would like to come along - after all, I'd be hocking her ring, it's only fair I buy her a ticket, too.

Oh, hells, I went long anyway.

I will end (at last!!) with this - it is difficult enough to go through life on the balance beam that is mental illness without having to dodge (figurative) wrenches flung at my (figurative) head by someone who should know very well what they're doing and either hasn't grasped it yet or just doesn't care...either of which means I am not worth the effort, which just brings me back to why I'm pissed off and don't need to write any more tonight.

Right now? Here there be things that even dragons fear.

Now why would I be frustrated?

This morning wasn't at all frustrating. The ridiculous bed came, the ridiculous bed was assembled, Bird played on the ridiculous bed, all was well. The same cannot be said for the rest of the day. Oh, nothing went wrong, per se. No. Just...annoying. You may have noticed there's an election on? Well, here in Georgia, today was the day to go and vote. Apparently this means that it was the day for the candidates to crank up the evil charm and let the voters know how terribly important we are to them, how much they love us and need us and how they know we are an integral part of the political system and their future.

How do they go about this? I'm so glad you asked.

They could pound the pavement, shake hands, meet and greet, hold town-hall style meetings, or even go door to door. They could. Of course, that would mean actually coming face to face with voters, some of whom may not like them. The horror. No, best not risk it.

Instead, they call. Well, how lovely, to have a chance to chat with a candidate, hear their views on the issues that mean the most to...what?...wait...oh, I see. It's a recording.

Yes, that's how much we mean to them...we mean exactly enough to annoy the crap out of us by making the phone ring every fifteen to twenty minutes all day long and playing a recorded message about how important our votes are to them.

I feel so loved, really. How could I not? Several of the people running for president of this nation took time out of their busy day to dial my number and...what?..they didn't dial my number themselves so they could let me know how much I mean to them? It was a random auto-dialer? They don't even know I exist, don't really care about my thoughts on things like taxes, immigration, education, human rights and freedom? Oh. I'm crushed.

If they are wooing me by computer, how on earth am I supposed to believe that they give a rat's ass?

Truth is, they don't. Not about me, or my son, or what I think about any of them and their annoying computer calls every fifteen to twenty minutes all day long. They may care when they find out that I won't vote for anyone who has a computer call me and do their dirty work (at the last minute, no less). I am OK with my place as a nobody in the political machine - after all, I don't give them my money, don't sport anyone's bumper stickers, pins, hats, tattoos, or other signs of support. I'm just a voter. What good are we?

Ah, ahem. Perhaps they'd like to think about that a little. Meanwhile, perhaps you'd like to join me? Tell your candidate you won't vote for them if their computer calls you. This isn't a party thing...it's not about who you prefer or why. It's about respecting us enough to make a little effort, to appear in person and give access to the people they need to win this whole silly game. I know it's a lot of work, it's a lot of travel, it's a lot of walking, schmoozing, time on the trail. So what? We, the people, aren't worth it? They're asking us to give them our nation's top position so is it really too much to ask that they let us say hello, shake a hand, offer 'em a hotdog or something? Nah...most of us aren't lobbyists, special interests, or millionaires with money to offer, so we don't count.

I guess they think it's enough to have a computer randomly dial us up and kiss our ass.

I wonder if they break up with people's answering machines, too?