Monday, 5 Jan 2009
Someone flushed the toilet, which is not all that uncommon. We left the house. Still… nothing new in Denmark. But ten minutes later my 15 yr. old son called in a panic. The overflow valve on the toilet had malfunctioned, the tank filled beyond capacity and, well… it leaked. A huge waterfall of a leak. Flooded out the hallway and the laundry room downstairs. Created bubbles in the drywall of the ceiling in my daughter’s room. Soaked my kitchen table. *shudder* The maintenance man was sent right over to fix the stopper on the toilet. But my carpet will have to wait until tomorrow to be cleaned. Lovely.
In the meantime, I have to launder every single towel we own, as I used them to sop up all of the mini-lakes in my townhouse. Do you have any idea how many towels I own?
…Too freakin’ many.
Bah.
As some of you may have noticed, I’m having a difficult time finding the time to maintain my blog. I post about once a month now, if that. Part of it is apathy. But here lately, I’ve felt as though I just couldn’t say what has really been on my mind. You know, for fear of traumatizing someone. Like my kids, for starters. Or my friends, when I could actually call them as such. I’ve managed to alienate a couple of them, so that excuse is out. It was silly of me, really. I mean, what was I thinking when I spoke out against dishonesty? I must be living in a dream world, eh? I mean, friends lie about you. Right? And then when you call them on it, they don’t own up to it. And not only do they not own up to it, but they turn and point a finger at you, labeling you as the bad guy for deciding that you really didn’t feel like letting this particular whopper slip on by without voicing your disapproval.
What’s up with that?
Seriously. I don’t get it. How am I the bad guy for saying that I don’t appreciate lies being told about me or my husband. I suppose it’s my fault for not speaking up sooner on all the other lies that had been told. You know, everyone should have more friends like the ones I had.
That sounded really bitter because it was.
I have plenty more bitterness that I could throw into the pot, but we’d only wind up with arsenic. Which I suppose isn’t such a bad idea, in a diabolical mad scientist sort of way. I hated Science class. Nearly fainted when the teacher pricked my finger for that stupid blood test thingy. Fainted! I had warned him ahead of time, but he insisted that I participate or receive a failing grade. Bah. I turned as pale as a ghost (which, believe it or not, is paler than usual). My ears started ringing too. Apparently the teacher noticed my deathly complexion, as he immediately asked me if I needed to leave the room. Told ya so. He probably just didn’t want me to faint on his beakers. I managed to make it out into the hall, but then the lights started swirling and the floor started spinning. I slid my back down the wall and then crawled to the bathroom. Barfed my guts out and felt moderately better afterward. Good times.
I had a few good times in high school, but mostly not. Keggers were fun, but mostly ‘cuz the beer always made me feel comfortably numb. I liked that. And I got to hold Harold’s hand. I really liked holding Harold’s hand. Kissing him was exceptionally nice too. He never left me out of his sight for very long. I thought that was so sweet. It really sucked when I found out that he cheated on me with a couple of girls from Sandpoint. It sucked even more when my best friend told me that she blew him once. As I struggled to get over my shock (’cuz I was a reasonably good girl and the notion of such acts left me utterly horrified), she asked if we could still be friends.
???
We remained friends, actually. I knew her for the tramp that she was. She couldn’t help herself. Harold should have said ‘no’. That was my mindset at the time, at least.
I have a strange mind.
It wanders.
…but I’m always smiling on the inside.



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