Archive for August, 2011

Message in a Bottle

Friday, August 19th, 2011

My dear friends,

I have had some wine.

 

Actually, that does not begin to encompass the facts. Let me back up and punt:

I have been coming down with a cold due to stress and exhaustion.

I gave a hypnotherapy session yesterday.

I recieved a hypnotherapy session yesterday.

They were past life regressions and intense on both accounts.

I sneezed through the entirity of the one I gave.

I nearly slept through the one I received due to aforementioned stress/exhaustion cold.

Then I drove to a Thai restaurant – twice – to get dinner (twice because they made the first curry with beef instead of chicken as requested, so I had to go get the replacement.)

I am a very good friend.

I have wonderful, dear, sweet, beautiful, gorgeous, amazing friends in return. For all the laments of my life, I have been very deeply blessed with amazing friendships since my early girlhood. Thank you, sweet angels. You know who you are…

I got up at 7am.

I did some favors for some friends (I am,  as mentioned, a very good friend) like researching DUI attorneys and finding an excellent hypnotherapist in your area and deciding which proposed haircut I think will best suit you.

I ate some eggs.

I went and saw my own attorney, a fact which evokes both a financial squeal (think “Deliverance”) and a general need for quietness about my own personal such and such and impulses to keep, well, most anything personal under wraps. This super sucks from a blogging perspective.

I went to my storage space and labeled a bunch of shit for shipping and carried it out to the car and loaded it in and drove it to the post office and carried it out again and lifted it up onto the desk for the lady to measure…only to learn they will not ship anything in a box you got from the liquor store.

Wha….????

Seriously….wha….???

What kind of Nazi bullshit is this?

So what if the box says “Cuervo” when the contents are some jeans?

Well, so what is that the U.S. Fucking Postal Service cares, apparently. Quite a bit, in fact.

Well, F@ck you, Hitler Postal Service Postmaster General. F*CK YOU.

My god, I love this animal.

I bought some paper tape, and I am going to cover words like “Three Olives” and ” Captain Morgan” and I hope you enjoy shipping the same damn boxes you made me shlep back and forth like an idiot today. I realize you will never read this or feel bad or realize how redonculous your rules are, but I still feel better. So suck on that.

Anyway, then I loaded a rented Toyota Camry within an inch of it’s life.

Then I drove five hours.

Then I had some wine (circle back to the top of this post at this point, if you’re so inclined.)

 

Times have been tough, my friends. Perhaps you’ve intuited that. I apologize for my silence. I have a general policy of only speaking when I have something useful to say, and the last few weeks have been goddamned hard.

 

However, they have not been without highlights. Speaking of which, if this was the 80s, I would probably call in to my local radio station and dedicate a song to Dozer, my dog, who is currently sleeping on the floor. His tongue is hanging out of his mouth and touching the carpet and his little (euphemism: they’re big) feet are twitching as he dreams about whatever the heck dogs dream about.

Now, the sarcastic part of me would like to make that song I dedicate be “Who Let the Dogs Out,” but that would be insincere.

Nope, for better or worse, during this – a truly tough little period in my own life – I must call it like it is. And what it is is that there have been more days than not that that ridiculous, hairy, happy, and unconditionally loving beast have made my life worth living. Thus, I would like to send out and dedicate the following tune of gratitude (released during the year of my birth, as it were).

Enjoy, dear friends.

I can only wish that no matter what the universe is serving up to you right now (and never lose faith that it is all unfolding as it should), that you have your own little island paradise and/or island in the storm to whom this song could be sung.

 

 

 

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