“Your life story would not make a good book.
Don’t even try.”
- Fran Lebowitz

I am enjoying the half hour lull between meetings right now.  Today has been surprisingly hectic, and I’ve been asked to support a meeting that will wrap up my afternoon with yet more stuff-to-do.  Which, believe it or not, is how I prefer it.

I haven’t had time to play online or read more in-depth quotes to pass along to you or to find out what stupid thing Rush Limbaugh has said today or anything like that.  I have been emailing the Coven, but that’s about it.  Which is the mark of a very busy day for Sarah.

I need a nap.

So, for the past week, Bryan has learned a very subtle way to freak Sarah out: my hair makes a noise when it falls on my pillow.  It’s soft, and sounds like wet snow hitting the ground.  But I’ve had short hair for years, and this noise is really disturbing and foreign to me.  So I think I’m going to get it cut off this weekend. 

OH!  I cleaned last night.  I neglected to tell you that earlier.  I got home around 5:45, and had boned up on the wonderful fly site Steph pointed me to.  I told myself I could clean for 15 minutes.  Just 15 minutes.  You know, baby steps.  Two hours later, I sat down, exhausted.  I only hit the living/dining room and kitchen, but it looks SO much better.  This weekend: the bedrooms.  Be afraid.

Next Wednesday, everyone should come out to see the Lee High one-act, Hands Across the Sea.  There will be more details following, but the kids need an audience.  And, blessedly, it’s only 45 minutes of your time.  Also, if you’re someone we respect in theatre, I’m sure the director and his new wife would be thrilled with some constructive criticism before they go off to competition.

I hope everyone has a loverly weekend.

“Do not allow children to mix drinks.
It is unseemly and they use too much vermouth.”
- Fran Lebowitz

I am tired this morning.

It was probably one o’clock before we fell asleep last night, and with a rise-and-shine of 5:25 a.m., I don’t have much fight in me.  It’s just ire and disgust.  Not fight.

Life comes and goes in waves.  Sometimes, you can be surprised by the duality of people.  Sometimes, yes, you see it coming, but then you hear things that you wouldn’t yourself believe until you witness it.  Lying.  Hypocrisy.  Out of control.  Lack of respect for themselves and others.  Not at all concerned with consequences, immediate or long-term.  Selfishness.  It’s ugly.  I don’t care how you dress it up or gloss it over or pixelate the edges, it’s still ugly.

It’s incredibly frustrating to watch someone publicly masquerade as a capable adult, and they will profess from every mountain top how in-control they are, but when it comes time to step up to the plate, to perform as everything they are so eager to convince the general public they are, there is nothing there of any substance.  Just a wounded little puppy.

It’s even more frustrating when you see everyone cater to the wounded puppy, instead of saying, “Buck up and fix it.”  Be the person you are so quick to put in words.  Make your actions match your claims.

And perhaps the most irritating part, the part that kept us talking till one in the morning, is that the blame and the guilt is pointed at us.  Every time.  It was us that made this happen.  It was us that caused this chaos.  When, in black and white, it simply wasn’t.  It was the lack of stability to begin with, having nothing to do with us.  And you can point fingers and shake your head till the cows come home; the problem doesn’t EXIST in our world, only in yours.  It only becomes a reality when you force open the home we’ve built and come barging in with banners waving.

Bryan and I learned a long time ago that respect is earned, not necessarily deserved.  We work to earn respect by accountability and accepting the blame when something happens that is truly the consequence of our actions.  We also struggle to improve any situation, even if we are not directly responsible.  And I’m proud of us for that.

It’s been one of my favorite sayings for years, and it still rings true, “The ship whose horn sounds loudest is the captain who’s lost in a fog.”