By some oddness, all the testings and evaluations this year came back just fine. I'm not eating the 90% meat and dairy diet, because who can afford that now? But I rarely get carried away. I will, as traditional observance, be trashed thru the holidays. It starts with the tree trimming, and carries on until the Very Crompton Christmas. So a month or so of stupid and careless behavior, which is kept in check by my nonexistent ability to party these days.
It's sad, I'm in bed with a book or movie by 8p and asleep long before 10.
The latest startling revelation is that I'm turning into Aunt Audrey, who wasn't a blood relative, who looked like Audrey Hepburn, drank whiskey straight, and was a very bitter person. She suffered no lie or stupidity in her presence. She put pins in balloons. She was called, behind her back, "bitchy". Yes, me too.
If there were some way to stop myself, I would have by now. So I must be aspiring to be Audreyish on some level. Isn't constant self-analysis fun.
I truly don't mean to be bitchy. It really irks me when friends are drowning in needless stupidity or someone's lies that they believe. It didn't used to bother me. Here and there I'd drop a terse bomb, and that was it. But over the years, it's fine tuned to dry, sarcastic know-it-all Audreyness. It's Sheldonesque, and boring, and somewhat mean. And that's all freaking weird.
Furtherly weird, I had to order wide glasses because this giant Viking head breaks readers that normal people wear. 3 pairs of readers in 6 months. Arms give out, lenses pop, frames crack apart. I have a huge head.
And here we are on a rainy, weirdly warm November 11th, Veterans Day, Armistice Day.
It was t shirt weather today. People were all "Isn't it great?" while I'm thinking, "This isn't November weather."
Elections are hanging like the pit and the pendulum; who knows what will happen but my guts won't allow me to think about it. Hell, my guts won't allow me to drink 2 cups of coffee anymore.
We creep and crawl closer to the Herman movie, at so slow a pace, but I won't let it not happen. Lots of sickness and elder issues among The Old Gang of Witches. Time is ticking and we've already said goodbye to 2 of the interviewed, Kaye Flagg and Jim Wasserman. I still can't believe they're gone. So yeah, this will be finished. Dammit.
And I still have no aide, so there's that. #17, where are you?
If you are a veteran, thank you and I'm sorry.
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4 comments:
How I wish the war to end all wars did.
And sadly I hear you on the bitchy front. I can (mostly) keep it to myself, but doing so sours my digestion.
Hugs.
Dear Austan, I too feel a gremlinoidal force plaguing my golden years with whatever gremlinoids are. Do they respond to ointments or suppositories? NO! They caper inside us to look for intracranial invisible things to tromp on. I'm nearly used to it. They can be pesky, like the three raccoons I just ran off our roof with my flashlight and walking cane --yes, I use a cane and love you.
EC, I wish the same. But as long as there's profit in it, there will be war.
Same here. If I don't pipe up, my stomach does. Lovely.
Hugs right back.
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Geo.! I have not tried ointments nor suppositories. I suppose I should probe those avenues. ;) My mind this morning is like the weather here, slushy, foggy and dribbling.
Hey, a lot of the best people used a cane, and you've joined them, proving just how great you are (Handy for scaring off varmints and people, too)! I love you too.
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