Monday afternoon and it is what some people would call 2ish, but not me. Too irritated, too cranky and too grumpy I use stronger language.
If I were drinking now I would have moved beyond beer to something that burns your throat and anesthetizes you from the rest of the day.
Actually that isn’t really true because that is not how I operate. In part it is because this dysfunctional digestive system would stage an immediate revolt and in addition to all of the other joyous side effects I would receive a visit from the I can’t get the hell out of the bathroom genie. And let me tell you that dude is a ripe bastard.
Sorry if that is too much information for you but that is part of the joy of living during the information age.
We are bombarded with news and information about anything and everything. Frankly it is too much. There is too much stuff. What the hell am I supposed to do with it. Where do I put it.
A Place For My Stuff
In that respect it resembles my current living conditions. We are living a house that isn’t quite big enough for us. There isn’t enough room for all of our stuff. I am not surprised by any of this because I knew this is how it would be. I moved with intent and purpose. This was all planned but god laughs at those who plan so we have been here longer than anticipated.
It is not a horrific environment or terrible place to be. In many ways it is superior to where we were and there have been lots of perks and benefits. The neighborhood is better and closer to the places we like to frequent. That is all good, great and exciting.
But it doesn’t fix the fact that we face a spatial crisis that sometimes makes me feel like I am living in Apollo 13. I always wanted to go to space and figured that when I did it would be a tiny space capsule.
When the space shuttle showed up I figured that was cool because it meant that I would have a bit more room, but childhood dreams are different from reality.
Hell if the reality found me orbiting the earth I wouldn’t complain about the lack of space. Although on a tangent I do wonder about the air up there. What sort of filtration system do they have because all it takes is one person to have a Pepto Bismol moment and things could get ugly. Speaking of that sort of closeness a friend who is on his 4th marriage asked me what I thought about number four.
I told him that I wasn’t the person who had to answer that question but suggested that it might be good to be locked in a closet with her for a week or go on some show like the Amazing Race.
Great googly moogly man, what are you thinking. I know, it is not my business to say how many times a person can or should be married but four times is a bit crazy. I told him that we live in an age where you don’t have to put a ring on her finger to convince her to share a bed. I think I want to call the attorney who handled his first three divorces and ask if the business is more lucrative than I thought it was.
That is because there was a time when I wanted to a lawyer. Of course I wanted to practice Constitutional Law and not divorce, but hey I can be flexible.
In the interim I need to figure out how to get rid of more stuff or find a way to put more of it in storage. Most of the time it doesn’t bother me because this is temporary but every now and again I want to scream. Most of the time that is because the post office can’t find my mail. It was supposed to be forwarded but for some reason it hasn’t found its way to me.
The good news is that the post office tells me it is somewhere. So glad to hear that. It is somewhere, that is comforting. I’d like to put my boot somewhere…