It's All in the Song Titles

Yesterday, I was in the car listening (on my iPhone) to songs that start with C. It all started because Janine likes the song "The Chauffeur" by Duran Duran. At least I think that is the version she likes. Anyway, she wanted to listen to it on the way to school. OK fine. But then I wanted to hear the Deftones version, which they made for a Duran Duran tribute. All my kids were at school by then, which is why I had time to think, after all. So here are some random thoughts.

There is no cohesive theme to the songs on my iPhone that begin with the letter C. In fact, I had to skip a number of Native American tribal flute songs that I wasn't in the mood to listen to. Hmmm, perhaps THAT is the theme - all tribal flute song titles should begin with the letter C???

I'm wondering if I should finally change my ringtone from "Self Esteem" by The Offspring to "Coming Undone" by Korn. Nah, not yet anyway.

I need more songs by Duran Duran on my phone.

Maybe it's time to put more music by The Cure on my phone. They still are quite cool, if one is in the proper mood (a non-head-banging, non-tribal flute-listening kind of mood).

The songs I have that start with the word "Don't" make me look like love-sick psycho something. Perhaps my music is a true reflection???


The most common first word of song titles in my music library is "I". I won't list them all, because again I would probably come across as more than a little crazy.


I still can't really listen to Enya. Too much of that in the L&D room when Janine was refusing to be born. Maybe she & I needed the tribal flute music instead. Or songs that started with the word "Don't".


If I didn't laugh, I would cry. A lot. I don't look good when I cry. Many of you know that I'm not all that vain, so for me to say that, I must look pretty bad when I cry...

Random Musings Brought to You by the Letter B

Today, on the way back from one of my many trips to the Girl Scouts store in Randolph (ugh), I was listening to songs that began with the letter B. Here are some resulting thoughts:

1) Michael Hutchens - what a waste.

2) I seem to be focused on Black things and Blood in my B songs - Black & White (INXS), Black Coffee in Bed (Squeeze), Black Dog (Led Zepellin), Blood & Thunder (Mastodon), The Bloodletting (Concrete Blond), Blue Blood Blues (The Dead Weather - think Jack White)

3) I HAVE the ways and means to New Orleans, but no desire to go there at the moment. If I need to go down to the river where it's warm and green, walk around, and think, I can go to the Passaic. It's much closer and cheaper. And less hot.

4) I have been obsessed with witches and vampires for a very long time.

5) Head Show - what a funny name. Everyone in Chatham knows what it is, too. Not after this year though. The heads are often disturbing, so part of me is not bothered by this.

6) There are many other things I should be doing right now instead of typing these out. Bye!

Shop Vac, or My Life Cracks Me Up With Its Ironies

Yesterday, when Janine managed to shatter a Corelle bowl in the dining room before school, I used my Shop Vac to clean up the sharp little shards. I noticed then that the Shop Vac didn't have much suction. I didn't feel like emptying it then, so I left it out for today. I just went to dump it, and oh did I ever dump it - just not into the garbage like I meant to. I set it at the top of my outside steps by the gate and went to get a garbage bag from the garage. Down the steps it went, dumping all the dust and Corelle shards right onto the steps and driveway. Those shards are pointy, and I don't want to drive over them, so I had to pick them up as best I could and then clean up with a broom to the best of my ability. I am now coated with the dust (from our bathroom construction???). I can feel the dust on my skin, my eyelashes, my hair, and in my nose. Yuck! And, by the way, now I need to vacuum off my Shop Vac which is also coated in dust. Ha!

Jesus

It was recently brought to my attention that I have not shared enough of my Jesus stories. No, not THAT Jesus. The Jesus who was my neighbor in Boerum Hill, Brooklyn. Yes, the haunted apartment in Boerum Hill, but that's another entry (did I write that one yet?).

I asked Jesus once if I should call him "hay-soos", and he said no. His name was Jesus ("gee-sus"). OK then, Jesus it is.

Jesus was an older man, obviously of Hispanic origin, but I don't know where he was born. And did I mention that he only had 1 tooth, as far as I could tell? Yes, Jesus had one tooth.

I didn't interact much with Jesus. I kept to myself for the most part. The neighborhood wasn't that great, but it was on its way up. There really wasn't anything to do in my neighborhood though, and no local hang out that I would have found, much less frequented. My apartment was tiny, but it was just me and Stasia (my cat), so it didn't matter. Mark was often around too. One day, Jesus knocked on my door and gave me a mango. I bet you can't say that Jesus gave you a mango. I never did figure out WHY he gave me a mango. I didn't even like mangoes back then, so I'm pretty sure I tasted it then tossed it into the garbage. Jesus wasted a mango on me.

At some point, Jesus stopped working. I assumed he retired. I didn't see him much after that. Then one day, I found out why. Yeah. The neighbor found him, quite dead, because he smelled. Obviously Jesus didn't have a lot of friends checking in on him, and he'd been there for awhile. I think he essentially drank himself to death once he stopped working.

By talking with the neighbor who found him and the building superintendent, I learned that Jesus had quite a collection of girlie magazines in his apartment. So Jesus drank himself to death and was into porn. Kind of lends a whole new light on the phrase "What would Jesus do?", now doesn't it!?! This Jesus would have done anything. Even give a struggling young woman a mango.

Where DOES he get these ideas?

A few days ago, Thomas and Janine collided. This isn't an unusual occurrence really, but this time they hit HARD. Janine's mouth and Thomas' head hit together and Janine's teeth took the brunt of the hit. Her mouth was sore, so out came an ice pack (our freezer is filled with ice packs because someone who will remain nameless is always getting hurt). I think Janine's top front teeth were a little loose afterward. Thomas was SO upset. He was crying more than Janine. Nothing we said was consoling him.

It took us awhile to find out why HE was so upset when it was Janine's mouth that was affected. Then Thomas started whining about how he didn't WANT Janine to get a gold tooth. He was convinced that her loose teeth were going to fall out, and be replaced with gold ones. Huh?

Irreconcilable differences

I have irreconcilable differences with my life. Right now, I have a lot of questions. I don't think anyone could answer them, and I don't know whether there would be any point to answering them. My biggest question is a doozy though, and it is "WHY???" Why do we do this? And by this, I mean anything. Why do we get up and go to work to make money to put food on the table? Why do we go shopping for food and clothing? Why do we care who wins what game, how much money we have, what kind of car, how big the tv is, or anything? Why do we even live? What are we trying to prove? Why are we trying to prove it? Why am I here? Why do I feel so empty?

That last why is perhaps the hardest. I love my husband and my kids, and even our dumb dog and nasty cat. I have nice friends, a nice house in a nice town. So why do I feel empty? What is missing? Did I goof up somewhere along the line? Is this, as Trent Reznor coined, a Terrible Lie? Is my entire life one big screw up that I missed the point somewhere along the line? Is this not where I am supposed to be? I don't get it.

So why, oh why does it matter if I lose the extra pounds I've been carrying around since I had my kids? I'm going to die anyway at some point, so does it matter if I don't gain back a couple of years? Do I really want to live into my 90s? I don't think so.

Some people would say that religion is missing from my life. Eh. I've been there and done that, in various forms. Have I just not found the right religion for me? The right community is more like it, since organized religions are, well, organizations.

I'm not suicidal (why would I want to do THAT?). I don't want pity. No "I'm sorry you feel this way" or "what can I do to help?". I won't have my own answers tomorrow, nor do I believe I ever will. Maybe it does all come down to 42, and don't forget your towel.

Hard to pinpoint it, but it's not you

I recently read a post on Facebook (yes, I know I am addicted) that a friend shared. It was by The Bloggess, and she was discussing how she has recently emerged from a bout of depression. She (and I do not know her) self-harms at times, because the physical pain distracts from the mental/emotional pain. A friend of mine once did something similar during college, and we had to go visit her in the ICU after she took a whole bunch of pills. These things happen, and they are real.

I have never self-harmed, but that doesn't mean I am any better, nor would I presume to think so, than this woman. Recently, at my annual physical, I found myself holding back tears while speaking to the doctor. I had nothing to say other than I am tired.

I am tired of being in physical pain so much. I have a headache almost every day. My spine curves in two places, so my back, neck, and shoulders frequently hurt too. If I sleep too much, my back hurts even more. I'm tired of being short of breath, itchy, and cold all the time from the blood disorder or whatever else is going on with me these days.

I am tired of doing the same thing, day in and day out. I am tired of being a mom to a child (usually just the one) that call me stupid. I am tired of speaking to my kids, but them not listening. I feel like a failure as a mother when I see my kids hitting each other and calling each other cringe-worthy names. If they treat each other this way, how do they treat other people? Where did I go wrong? Why can't I teach them to treat people better?

I am tired of living in a country that doesn't treat its own citizens with respect and dignity. Big brother will watch you, all in the name of preventing terrorism. More and more cameras. Yes, they cut down crime, but your whereabouts can always be tracked. What is up with that? I don't do anything that I need to hide, but come on.

In this country, you may be a woman, but you obviously can't make decisions about your own body, at least if certain lawmakers have their way. God forbid we make the resources available so women can make educated decisions about their bodies. I'm not saying that I am pro-abortion, but let a woman know all her options.

So essentially, I am tired of being tired. I will not self-harm (unless you count over-eating as that!), I am not suicidal, but I am also not really happy. I make jokes and try to see the bright side of things, but inside I am not happy. It's not you though, it's me. Can I change that? Hmmm, perhaps, but some days I just don't want to. I want to wallow a bit, then pick myself up the next day and soldier on.