But after being sniped at repeatedly to post something new I've got to regurgitate something here...
Let's see. This is the last day of my four-day weekend. I was planning to head up to Seattle to the Jeopardy! tryouts, which I was registered for on Saturday morning. But between the cost of gas, lodging, and the fact that my knees are now BOTH killing me on a consistent basis, I decided to stay home. It's OK, I've passed their test before, so I know I can do it. They'll be back in the Northwest someday, and by then I will surely be financially stable and physically fit.
Have I spent my time off productively and wisely? Snort. Not even. But it's damn fine to roll over on a rainy Monday morning and go back to sleep.
Especially when the real world can suck so bad.
I got an email from a friend yesterday. His pregnant wife stopped feeling the baby move Saturday afternoon. She was due in November, I think. They went to the doctor for reassurance, but didn't get it. The umbilical cord had gotten twisted, then a clot formed, cutting him off from his mom's life force. After a time she gave birth. Gary tells me the baby was beautiful. God almighty, a miscarriage is painful enough, but this was an almost fully-formed baby boy, whose parents were just ecstatic waiting for him. What the hell is the purpose of this?
More joy and festivity -- this morning I see a city bus backing up in front of my house. What the hell? Oh, his passage is blocked by a fire truck in front of the neighbor's house. Turns out it's the white-trash-used-truck-lot-in-the-yard people to the south. The mother's had an aneurysm, "another one" according to one of the kids. While these are far from my favorite neighbors, this sucks pretty bad. Aneurysms are always trouble, but she was still conscious, a good sign.
However, I'm amazed that she hasn't blown a gasket already, during one of her sessions of screaming obscenities at her teenage sons. While I sympathize with the maternal need to express displeasure at the offspring, Jesus H. on Horseback do we ALL need to hear it for miles around? And is it really necessary to use the work "fuck" at that volume, repeatedly, to your own child? I don't think so.