Month: July 2006 (Page 3 of 3)

I have no interest, ever, in being shot into outer space. The very notion makes me claustrophobic. Not even if you sent a monkey or a dog with me.

Criminals are uber-stupid. UBER. If I could put the umlaut on that word in Blogger, I would.

Private investigators are tres cool. I can’t put the accent mark on that one, either.

When you go to Detroit for a five-day backgammon tournament, you come home and use the qualifiers “uber” and “tres” a lot. We’re still researching why.

When JWo is home, the dogs stop barking at everything.

I have started being able to sleep. In fact, just took a three-hour nap.

I keep discovering things they’ve taken. That part really sucks.

I read the Wikipedia summaries about the Book of Job. Because last weekend, I kept thinking, “Huh. This is starting to feel a little like I should maybe change my name?”

As a kid, I read the play “JB”, by Archibald Macleish, a hundred times; it is a modern-day parable of Job, and how he cries out for God, even on his dung heap. Thankfully, I haven’t a dung heap. Or boils. But if the locusts come? I have a big flyswatter, and I’m ready.

I am blessed with wonderful friends and family. Blessed. And grateful.

I turn 38 in two days. I feel like the month of June aged me, rapidly, but I don’t mind. It won’t always be this hard. And, as I said just a couple short months ago, in answer to the question, “Will you be ok?”: “I don’t have a choice.” Of course we have choices, we choose our paths, and while I’m prone to falling down and tripping, I am always and forever going to choose the path through, towards the sunshine and stars, towards the voices of friends, a black dog at my side, knitting in a bag, and whether it’s today, tomorrow, next year or seventeen years from now, I will always be ok. The reason I bring up all this Job stuff is not that I believe my life is a parallel, for it has not been destroyed, but to show we have the choice, to have faith that life will get better, rather than allow ourselves to become mired in sorrow and anger and bitterness. The subconcious of my mind brings it to the top, because even though it’s been 20+ years since I read that play, the lesson remains.

But I still want to punch the burglars in the nose. Hard. Actually? I decided putting cosmetic lip plumper? Like “Lip Venom”? On all areas where there’s sensitive skin? Would be a really satisfying revenge.

And then after all their skin’s drenched in Lip Venom, we’ll put ’em in a space suit & shoot them into outer space. With monkeys. And locusts.

In the wake of the burglary, I’ve had a houseguest each night, in addition to both dogs sleeping in the bedroom. Sadly, not one night was spent doing hair, makeup or nails. However, last night, my friend Jimmi & I got caught up on the Grey’s Anatomy finale, still on the DVR that was NOT stolen, and while it was good, it was oh, you know, a frickin’ knife through my heart. The heart patient dude dies, the resident who loves him stays on his bed curled up with him, just like Brenda did with my dad after he died, one of the other residents carried her off the bed, just like her oldest son did to her – and let’s just leave the trip down memory lane at that. I snuffled. But I didn’t fall apart, because right now, the last thing I can do is fall apart.

James gets home today (he has been in Detroit for five days) and I expect I’ll fall apart then. I will at least start getting more than 5 hours of sleep. Then, the alarming of the home commences. Outdoor siren is a GO! I wonder if there’s an extra service charge to get dudes rapelling from a helicopter & ninja ass-kicking would-be thieves. I was hoping for some sort of Raiders of the Lost Ark booby-trap, like a thousand nail guns firing if a trigger gets tripped, or a giant net falling from the ceiling and releasing a million fire ants on the trapped pigfuckers. Perhaps I’ll need to form my own security company to install those measures. Evil suggestions are welcome.

I’m feeling a little like George Costanza’s dad, walking around & shouting angrily “Serenity NOW!”

On the other hand, I feel a strange sense of calm. There are only so many things worth valuing and wringing your hands over, and all of them are still here. Of course, except my father, but I also recognize reality.

We are going to turn the abode into one level below Fort Knox, and I’m still debating on the outdoor siren. For whatever reason (probably the same reason I love me a megaphone), it speaks to me. I guess it comes down to whether I want my neighbors to speak to me after the first false alarm?

The dogs are maintaining the front lines, and Suzy especially is not having any time for the security people coming in with their quotes. This morning was especially eyebrow-raising, just how pissed she was. I have to admit, I love it. They did this last time I had a scare, picked up on my anxiety & stepped up their own guard-dog levels. They follow me everywhere and it’s a great feeling. Polly might try to lick someone to death, but I have complete faith that Suzy would take someone’s arm or face right off. Reconstructive surgery: a bitch.

My task at hand is to have some serenity, and to enjoy as much as I can, the time off. So, if you’re in the metro area and you see a round red-head marching about in her off-road crocs, muttering SERENITY NOW! hey – just say hi, I’ll tell you my life story, I did it to a stranger at Target yesterday, and we’ll have good times. Just keep your hands away from Suzy.