Author: Allegra

Born when atmospheric carbon was 316 PPM. Settled on MST country since 1997. Parent, grandparent.

clouds of depression and anxiety

Well sheeeeeit, that’s no fun for readers, so perhaps I should just recite bare facts.

Spent most of the day Saturday prepping for what turned into a non event. The one person I figured for sure would come got lost and didn’t make it; a couple of other people who promised to come didn’t show, and it was a very thin crowd indeed. Fortunately the mountain of food was consumed in short order by the folks who attended church the following morning.

I had to open at nine and I couldn’t close until one, so it was another long blank church day.  I am so tired.  Still tired, and work is like a tsunami visible at the horizon, being held in check by the machinations of a government body that isn’t even in Canada. Such are the joys of international commerce in these parlous times.

Came home and Keith was pulling up just as I was and we went to the The Wire-land and stayed there for about four hours as we (Keith Jeff and I) blasted through the last third of the second season.  My goodness.  What an awesome show.  Chris Bauer, who plays Andy Bellefleur the new sheriff of Bon Temps in True Blood, is phenomenal as Frank Sobotka.

Katie called and asked if she could come over and we said sure and then Paul asked if he could come over and we said sure, and we all hung out and Katie and Paul and I went for a walk.  Paul and Katie both stayed over.  I made Katie chocolate milk with whipped cream.  What a weird household I run to be sure.  Anyway I got about thirty seconds left on this before I simply must get going.

I’m so stressed out I’ve started smoking again, but if it’s any consolation this is day three of no beer.  I imagine I’ll stop smoking again when this deck is done, I always get disgusted and stop. Paul just looks at me and Katie with a worried face – nothing could tempt him to smoke again.

I have nothing to be anxious and depressed about.  However, we live in an age of anxiety, and I certainly am feeling my share.

Lara Croft posable action figure

Some years ago I brought her into work.  She’s so old that I can’t even find an image of her on Google images…. anyway, she gets given to new employees.  The newest one, a cute as a button young firmware engineer, just wandered by my desk and asked, doe eyed, when I wanted my doll back.

I sat up straight and said, “Seven inch posable action figure, PuhLEASE!”

And I then said, “Anytime.  When you feel like you’re adequately integrated into the team, bring her on back and I’ll give her to the next new employee!”

This is called, “The Passing of the Lara”.

Bloodwurmz! (Relatives of Tatzelwurm).

Oooogh, quoth she.

In real news for me, which I am confidently aware will be of no conceivable use to even my mother…..

Church meeting kinda interesting.  I talked too much, as per Save Us usual.  Rev Katie gave us YET another book to read.  She must think we’re Unitarians er something.

Yay!  Jeff, beautiful Jeff, was up and willing to watch another episode of The Wire.  Yip, yip, aroo.  Oh, Jimmy, how we love your drunken ways.  One of the best drunks ever; Dominic West’s face becomes so rubbery and simian that you pull your face away from the tv, convinced you’ll be smelling the ferocious eyescalding breath on him if you get any closer.

I love how they don’t translate stuff in other languages.  You can either keep up or not.

I love my car. I love my car.  Ziva is not a vehicle, she is an obsession.  Too soon, by rust and accident and use and expense she will be torn from my bosom…. now wait a second.  That’s too weird an image…. I plant my ass in the middle of her all the time, to refer to her as being torn from my bosom would mean that she would a) have to get a lot smaller b) lose A LOT of mass c) travel through my body, like ew, while in that state and ….. wait a minute.  All I have to do to make that image real is get out of the car, glue (something that won’t damage the finish) my shirt to the car, and have somebody else drive away from me.  Then she’d be torn from my bosom, and that would actually kind of make sense, although for the most striking visualization of this idea a cartoon or comic would probably work best.  And that way I don’t have to damage the car, always a plus.  For the image to work perfectly I’d be left naked with a patch of hair torn off, but a drawing of me, so I can avoid the hassle of you know, like, going through it.   You know, like that Despair chica from the Sandman books.  That’s how terrible I’m going to feel when she goes.  But I can still encompass, with a glowing, merciful joy, what it’s like to sit in her and feel the engine purr into life.  To feel the IMMENSE CASCADES of heat that come out of those vents when it’s cold.  I’m sure I mentioned earlier how much I like my car.

Keith is looking for work.  Katie is working too much.

I blow kisses at Sue Sparlin, Karen Greenland, Carol Becken, and Rev Katie of course.

Parlous times they may be, but I am not alone.  I feel a great connectedness, which is only increased when shared.