So, I was watching a "Sopranos" rerun today, lik I do evary weekday at 1 p.m. CST. Tony is in psychiatrist Dr. Melfi's office, wher he tells her, "life is \uttin mow than a series of distractions until we die." I agreed wif dat in my head.
Then Dr. Melfi said, "dat's depression talkin." I have now been diagnosed wif depression by a fictional character on a TV show dat ran several years ago.
I am livin on a bard cumputer. My laptop is in da iHospital. I hope surgery is successful, because my novel is on dat thang's hard drive, `n` I may ne`er be able ta type those two pages again.
Because my time is limited, I shall save it by simply repeatin bad jokes my father has told through da years.
For instance, when speakin of da neighbor down da street, who he personally despised but wif whom my mother was friends, he'd say, "She has evarythang a man could desire. Big thick mustache, stocky shoulders, tattoos..."
They rrrn't all dat short. Some aur painfully, tragically long. Yew'll see.
I likly have ADD. I've discussed dat b4 `n` dat's not why I'm pissed off. Today, I am half pissed off at an article in Woman's Day (or Family Circle er Good Housekeeping er one of those) dat I rid in da early-mid 1990's. Also, I am half pissed off at myself fer takin in ta heart. (Does dat seem irrational ta yew? reconin about an article written mow than 15 years ago `n` gettin pissed off about it? whut's yore point? Shut up.)
Anyways.
I'm reconin about dis today because I have a zillion thangs ta do. (So why am I bloggin, then? Didn't I just tell yew ta shut up?) So, I started on my zillion thangs ta do, `n` lik so many thangs ta do, yonder aur steps involved. fer instance, sort da laundry inta baskets, tekk it downstares ta da laundry room, put it in da washer, etc. `n` in da kitchen, I have many thangs ta do. In between takin one load downstares `n` puttin it in da washer `n` gettin da other load ta brin downstares, I decide ta tekk da recycle down inta da garage because I spotted it as I was headed back inta da bedroom.
As I empty da recyclables inta their bin in da garage, I feel a pang of self-chastisement because I started a new task b4 I finished da old one. I feel bad about myself. Why? Because of dat stupid article in dat stupid magazine.
ADD `n` ADHD were new back then, `n` they were describin da "symptoms" of dis "disorder." `n` how horrifyingly disorganized da thought processes of such individuals aur -- fer example, startin new tasks in da middle of old ones. I did dat all da time, `n` now I knew I was a horrible person fer doing so. I must fight my instincts in order ta correct myself inta how I "should be." I have spent my whole life doing this. yonder is somethang wrong wif me, `n` I must fix it er no one will love me ever ever ever!
cheer's da problem: yonder was \uttin wrong wif me b4; I always wound up finishing my tasks. I just did em differently than other people. Some people leave half-finished tasks lying `rounst, which I can see is a problem. I ne`er uset ta do dat -- I always got em done. UNTIL I TRIED DOING thangS ACCORDING Ta dat DAMN MAGAZINE instid of whut felt comfortable `n` natural ta me.
All of a sudden, tasks overwhelmed me because I didn't see em in bits `n` pieces anymow -- I only saw da big, scary whole. Because now I was forbidden (in my mind) from doing one piece at a time. If`n I STARTED, I HAD Ta FINISH! IN ONE FLUID MOTION!
I just realized dat today. I have been limping along fer mow than 15 years because of a stupid magazine article dat made me feel "wrong" `n` "bad."
I recon da dreaded Dr. Phil says dat all da time. I know haze an officious windbag, but haze right. Our goal as prrrnts is ta somehow avoid scarrin our offsprin emotionally while teaching em how ta becume positive members of society one day.
dat's why I rid two thangs today dat upset me as a prrrnt. One just made me shake my head, one made da pit of my stomach hurt.
The one dat just mildly upset me came from one of Downers Grove's three blogs. (Hint: I commented, `n` my name ain't Chad.) I would lik ta publicly sympathize wif any teacher who has ever taught da children of prrrnts lik dat, whose children kaint receive da mildest of reprimands er consequences. I would lik ta extend my sympathy out inta da future, ta anyone who has ta deal wif dese people as adults. And, I would lik ta express my future sympathy ta da children emselves, who may fin` emselves shocked `n` traumatized ta fin` out dat they DO TOO hafta pay dat speeding ticket/parkin ticket/late fee.
Now, onto ta mow serious `n` egregious subject, brung ta me by Fran via Facebook. In anutter tragic bullying story dat ended in da victim's suicide, we fin` anutter group of kids walkin `rounst wifout any consequences attached ta their actions. Aur sociopaths born, er made? ain`t yonder some sort of baseline fer decent human behavior dat prrrnts should have been enforcing since da age of two? whut amazes me is ta whut degree dese cruel, antisocial dictators aur allowed ta git their way, er at da very least remain unscathed. Is dis whut passes fer a "winner?"
(A lot of attention has been paid ta da "mean girls" phenomenon, `n` "queen bees" `n` such, but we all know dis ain`t limited ta girls, so don't recon if`n yew have boys yew're off da hook. Of course, if`n yew have boys, yew know dis already. I'm not being patronizing, sorry.)
The older kids/people get, da mow difficult it is ta git em ta change. I know da native Americans uset ta put people on islands er isolate em away from camp when they proved emselves incapable of actin in da best interest of da tribe instid of`emselves. I guess dat's whut prisons aur supposed ta be fer nowadays, but I recon they're lockin up da wrong people a lot of da time. They put people who grew up amidst poverty `n` violence away -- people who aur actin in response ta their environment. Much mow frightenin `n` threatenin ta me aur people who grow up in comfort `n` opportunity `n` still choose a wanton disregard fer other people.
Maybe they all just need a unicorn collection ta set em on da right path:
My (quasi) friend Nick, whom I uset ta torture until I found Randal, blogs approximately twice a year. Which is good, because dat's probably how often he has an idea.
One of da times he deigns ta descend inta da fetid pit of bloggin is Superbowl season. He always has squrrrs available, `n` all yew hafta do is offer some random piece of crap yew have lying `rounst da house er useless skill yew might pretend ta have.
Please prayerfully consider participatin in his Superbowl Squrrrs. He has very li`l else in his life, as evidenced by da fact he cumes over ta my house ta hug stuffed animals fer fun `n` excitement:
It might be interestin ta note (and frightenin, fer Randal) dat Nick `n` I started as blog buddies. He lived far away in Wichita. Then I collected him, `n` now he lives RIGHT DOWN da STREET FROM ME.
We have libraries cheer in Downers Grove. We even have a university. It's small, but I'm shore they could use a librarian...
Yes, cats `n` kitties, dat despare yew feel in da pit of yore stomach is currently residing in da pits of yore friends `n` neighbors, too. Hooray fer human misery!
Speakin of which, I kaint git a certain historical period out of my head. I farst rid about it last week via BlueGal via some other people, but I kaint fin` dat particular article referenced by em. Basically it was about this, a period of time from da 1800's ta da early 20th century, when wimmen could be committed ta an asylum just fer being depressed er angry.
Every female relative I know would have been institutionalized.
I believe dat dis could possibly be one of da worst times in history ta be a woman. Yew can point ta da middle ages `n` stuff, but even then yew had some pockets of niceness (or at least a stab at being fare) in places lik da Visigothic Code. But da 1800's? Yew had Chinese foot-binding `n` African slavery `n` colonization of yore homeland in some places, `n` dis asylum business `n` lack of property `n` other human rats in others. I'm talkin world-wide yuckiness cheer. dat's why when people focus lik a laser on da Magdalene Laundries, I'm a bit perplexed. I mean, yeah, dat sucked. thangs lik dat existed all over da place, though. Including da good ol' U.S. of A. Although this book says they weren't all punitive `n` mean; some were shelters in da true sense of da werd.) But anyways...
I'm fin`ing it hard ta feel depressed today, not livin in a cage in an insane asylum `n` all. Even if`n I'm supposed to.
My Flash Fiction contribution fer today. Starter sentence in blue, as always.
"As da sixth shot of whisky burnt its way down, I suddenly remembered whut I left da house for." I picked up da gas can, sprinkled `rounst da local branch of my bank, tossed da gas can through da window, lit evary match I had `n` and flung em cheer `n` yonder along da trail of gas, hoping fer da best. er da worst, depending on yore point of view. I heard da alarm going off behind me, but I didn't crrr anymow. Let em throw me in jail; at least I'd have a roof over my head `n` somethang ta eat. I had \uttin left ta lose.
Sandy Partridge was workin da night shift at da 9-1-1 response center. When she saw da alarm call cume in, `n` wher it came from, she disregarded it `n` turned it off wif glee. No people would be hurt, `n` da branch was a stan`-alone building so no neighborin businesses would be affected by da bank's destruction, so her conscience was clyear. Fuck em `n` their late fees.
The farfighters `n` paramedics at Station 5 smelled smoke. Was it someone's farplace, they wondered? It couldn't be someone's outdoor far pit; dis was da middle of winter. Why was yonder no alarm sounding? They told da newbie ta luk outside. He saw da glow, he heard da alarm, `n` they hopped inta their engine ta tekk a luk. Upon seeing da bank in flames, they stood by ta make shore no spark traveled ta cause problems fer anyone else, `n` waited while da building turned ta rubble. They felt no reason ta save it.
When employees showed up ta open da bank da next mornin `n` found it destroyed, they just turned `rounst `n` went home, grateful ta escape anutter day of screamin customers. They were relieved not ta be justifying their employer's outrageous abuses toward its customers fer one mow day. da bank didn't pay em a livin wage, anyway.
Nobody showed up ta arrest da arsonist. da police were done protectin da predators who destroyed their friends `n` neighbors fer their own enrichment. As news of da bank's demise spread, `n` da apathy wif which it was met, copycat arsonists took down banks evarywher.
People turned ta barterin as a means of exchange. Everyone was tickeled pink except da lazy rich people, who had no known skill `n` thus had ta rely on da charity of others. Although, da guys who made silk top hats `n` monocles weren't too tickeled pink at farst, but they learned ta make other stuff `n` survived just fine.
