Thursday, December 30, 2004

To blog?
or not to blog? A ticklish question!
Am just so #*&@! irritable that I can’t find anything to write about. I write the truth? As if writing about it would help. (And let the rest of the world know what an ungrateful, hyper-sensitive piece of work I am) Or say nothing. In hopes that my mood will pass and I may also delude any readers into thinking that I am just a silent model of satisfied serenity.
1) The fact that I enjoy my remunerative employment and that we really need the extra hours I am working right now should not have any bearing on the condition of the house when I return home in the evening. My leg hurts. I can’t get it fixed now. So you all will just have to bear with me and do some of the leg work. Just because I enjoy my job doesn’t mean I deserve to come home to a detailed recreation of the Phi Sigma Kappa house at the University of Minnesota circa 1976. You are all on double-secret probation.
2) So where’s my lanolin? I don’t mind sharing. Just leave the tube in my drawer. You all don’t know how lucky you were that I didn’t turn on all the lights at 5:30 this morning and go through the house (a la Joan Crawford with wire hangers) screaming, “Where’s my lanolin?” That was because my leg hurt. And I didn’t want to wake the dogs any earlier than necessary.
3) If I am asleep, leave me alone. I was asleep on the couch last evening because I was exhausted and your ailing sister was propped up in my bed watching TV and shedding viruses all over my room. Many thanks to Tommy G., the Princess’ beau, who said, “Bridget, leave your mom alone. I think she’s asleep.” Another good reason that Tom should marry Bridg - there will be at least one sane person at my wake who won’t try to get in a last word with me. Next year I must triple your oplatky!
4) Boys.....all you boys. Let’s get those garbage bags out of the basement. I don’t care who they belong to. Tonight is garbage night. None of this is heavy garbage......I am not worried about offending the fellows from Waste Management with an overload of lightweight, mostly paper, garbage. This is business, not personal. Rick, let’s stop with the profound empathy for the garbage men.
5) If Dad’s home, let’s not call the Church with problems he can manage. I certainly love you all, but if there is already a grown-up at home, don’t call me for things he can handle. Or look at it this way: Only call the rectory with things that you would call about if I weren’t there. That means no dog vomit, dictionary requests or menu complaints. If you wouldn’t leave it on Father’s voicemail reconsider why you have to take it up with his secretary.
6) I left $20 on the memo board. Somebody think about dinner. I'll do real marketing tomorrow. Just get us through tonight, OK? And because it's garbage night, this might be a good time to purge the fridge of suspect food. Did I mention the really, really old milk that I almost drank for breakfast?

Thanks for your patience. I feel so much better.

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