ARGH

"There is always room for improvement - in my case, that is all the room there is."


I had such grand intentions for this space. I know the internet is wide-open (at least for now) and that I can't really be wasting space, but I still feel like I am. I have so many things to say, but the procrastination and perfectionism get in the way.

I have a friend (at least I consider her a friend) who blogs deeply personal and powerful things. She writes of her inner struggle, her awakening and how it changes her and her life. To top it off it's intertwined with yoga that I can only pretend to dream of, much less imagine doing.

I read a blog by one of my favorite authors, who not only finds time to write her books/memoirs (who has that kind of memory?) and live a dynamic and interesting life, but she blogs regularly about said life and it's always funny and interesting.

I can barely find time to keep up with Fark.com, much less find the words to interest even myself. (and no Duckie, this isn't one of the blogs I promised).

I've been sick this past week, which would be a great excuse if I hadn't been silent for months. It's the first big illness I've had since the Nibblet was born. So I've been wretched and mean and snarky and flying off the handle at the slightest thing. Oh, you want dinner? Well, I hope your appetite survives after I've slammed every pan in the house and broken two plates. Oh, there are no clean clothes? Enjoy the ones I finally managed to do, because I'll be an awful bitch about folding them and then I won't even put them away, just leave them on the bed accusingly. Oh, you're going to be nice and forgiving and helpful? Good luck keeping that up as I snipe and moan and cough very pointedly in your direction.
Gods, I am terrible. I don't even know what I want, I just know that I don't have it. The worst part is that Indy has been an angel, even as he fights off the bubonic plague I'm trying to spread.

The Nibblet is showing her personality, and at eight months old she's already a better person than I am. On my worst day she would sympathy cough with me, curl up on the sofa while I stole naps, and I swear she's been reading to me instead of the other way around. Unfortunately she caught whatever I have (something about proximity between mother & child is fraught with shared germs). I don't know what we have, but we cough and snot and basically make each other miserable. I can't keep up with her schedule - is she hungry? tired? just sick? bored? She comes and pats my face while I cry at the hopelessness of it, and coos at me. At her worst she cries for comfort, and I barely provide it. Bad mother? I'm gonna go with yes.

Indy tries to fulfill desires that change more than Democrats. He cooks, he cleans, he takes care of the Nib, he gives me time to sleep or read or play WOW (what?). He hovers over me, and I curse. He leaves the room and I grouse. He couldn't win if he were George Bush. The fact that he sticks around and put up with me over and over again should prove something to those who doubted this relationship working. Or maybe they just knew me too well.

So I finally get an evening free to write and think deep thoughts, or at least wonder why the fuck Amy Winehouse doesn't fix her shit, and I spend it whinging. Hence the Argh.

Cross your fingers for me, because I do have things to say about the Landmark program, the movie Lions for Lambs, the worst part of being a parent, and the newsflash that I'm strongly certain about who I'm going to vote for in the primaries (I think).

Until another significant moment,

Shallowness

maybe it's just me, but sometimes I think I would sell my soul for a pair of Manolo Blahniks and an opportunity to wear them.

or maybe it's just the spring fashion magazine in the NYTimes.

I don't wear nice clothes (desk job/8mo old), and I don't get out much (desk job pay/8mo old), and I'm not particularly fond of my body right now (hmm, desk job/8mo old), but I do so love to look at fashion and I have a dangerous obsession with high heels. they've always made me feel powerful and sexy.

plus looking at the skeletons the magazines consider beautiful cracks me up. colt legs, flat chests, concave bellies, no ass? this is attractive? plus it appears that junky chic is back in, along with huge glossy red lips. I have as many self-image problems as the next girl, but I've never wanted to look like the Olsen twins, who look like they've been mummified. I do miss the Greta Garbo's, Marilyn's, and Betty Page's - still thin, but with va-voom, if ya know what I mean (wink wink). women that I'd do if I did women.

so, the point I'm getting to is - am I the only shallow enough to considered shoes worth my soul? everyone has their price, right, but I'm starting to wonder if mine is too low . . . .

Bobby

I wish that I could meet or just talk to someone who was still interested in politics.

And I don't mean the shite they call politics today. A waste of time, a colossal waste of money, and essentially a waste of thought. I'll ask again, who really wants to be president for the next four years? Do the current candidates know what they face? Do they care? It's become a ridiculous farce of democracy and has degenerated into a popularity contest.

Did the Baby Boomers turn politics into high school? Maybe. It's all been downhill since Nixon. How did that man get elected? I don't know, and I'm not sure I could find someone who could tell me. Even the poli-sci professors seem confused on this point. Perhaps I could find a class that would explain what happened to politics, but I don't know if I have the stomach to really learn.

All I know is that I haven't been moved much by politics since, well, since ever. I was so interested in voting when I was underaged, but when I couldn't vote in 1992, those damned two months shy of my eighteenth, I stopped caring. Well, until Dumbass ran, but if anything it proved that votes don't actually count.

And what happened to the movements? What happened to civil rights? What happened to Americans caring more about Americans than about cash, cheap tabloid fame, or incentive checks? Yeah, I dream rose-colored dreams, but I know more than I care to. I see the inequality. I see the dearth of interest in bettering the people that surround us. I see the laziness, the apathy, the inconsiderate and prejudice biases.

Amazingly I still think politics could change that. That there is a way to have a government that actually is of and for the people. Who are those people? Admittedly a lot that I don't care to know. Perhaps it is a government of the people and I'm such a stranger in my own land that I would willing leave it. But it is all I know, and somewhere I am a patriot. Somewhere I think that it's worth saving. But as Eddie Izzard so perfectly pointed out, America is the modern Rome. And we can all see where that ended up. People on scooters.

I just wish I could talk to someone, seriously, about politics. Not about young black dude versus strident white woman versus old conservative veteran. None of them actually do much for me. I hate their petty arguments, their smiling back-stabbing, their pointless plans for war. I can't believe they are all so oblivious about the immigration issues (idiots). I want Chris Rock. I want Kevin Kline. I want this person who still remembers what real life is like. Someone who wipes their own ass. The first candidate who can look me straight in the eye and discuss two-ply against lotion-infused is probably gonna get my vote.


On a different note: did anyone know that Emelio Estavez wrote and directed "Bobby"? Wha?? I missed that issue of People magazine. Good on ya, Em.