Hem And Haw
So, yeah. Currently the life is slowly and steadily being choked out of me by, my old friend and yours, Depression. Except that he’s really no friend to anyone, save for Despair. I bet he’s aces in her book. He may even just actually be one of her alternate faces. The guy sucks. The guy is pretty sure that you suck. And he’s not shy about letting you know just that. And the guy is super adept at getting you to believe his hype. And then you become certain that you suck. Which basically fucking sucks.
He’s wretched, wrapped about my spinal column like an invasive cancer. I’m wretched and can’t stand the sound of my own thoughts. I feel like Spiderman must have felt when he first bonded with the Venom Symbiote. Tinges of anger, muddied thought, a lessening of self. All the silly little geeky things that makes Spiderman who he is consumed by the black. Somehow he was able to reject the parasite and easily revert to the smart mouthed, quick footed badass that he had always been. But he is a superhero with an overdeveloped superego so what do you expect. My superego needs to get to the gym.
All this gets us to me apologizing to you, you gorgeous peeps, who have visited and commented here recently. I’m sorry I didn’t get around to writing back. And now I am overwhelmed with the sheer volume and have decided to start fresh instead of going back and saying things like; you’re right, that guy really is a douchelord, it’s onamonapia, eggs in a basket, or other stuff that is, at this late date, unintelligible and irrelevant. So I’m going to try and do better on a daily basis because, as lame as it might sound, I truly treasure every comment made here and especially every relationship I have made among all these here internet tubes. Now does anyone have any tips on how to eject an errant parasite? I’ll try anything.
And now a couple of randoms to go with my brain haze. Does anyone know how to childproof a pocket door? We have two in the Room That Bubs Built and he will soon be ready for a real live boy bed(thanks be to the sweet lady internet and all the gods that he made it to three in the crib). I can’t allow him to have unsupervised toilet and sink access or we will go broke paying for all the waters and all the toilet papers. I am not SMRT enough to figure it out and I think the internet is broken because it’s giving me nothing. Also? I’m fucking freezing. My heater is broken. Where is the heat guy? Or at least the Heat Miser?
That actually worked. The dude just called and is on his way. Apparently this is the summoning spell for heat. File away for future reference, but keep in mind the whole be careful what you wish for thing. Hopefully it doesn’t require ventilating hell or employing fire demons to dance inside my furnace. I’m pretty sure one, or both, of those things happened in Texas last summer. Also, I have learned from Winchester brothers on Supernatural that a soul is a valuable thing to have and you don’t want to go and unwittingly surrender ownership for something that will eventually resolve itself. Save it for the big stuff, like getting a ticket to Hollywood week on AI or locking down the last salted caramel brownie. I’m always thinking so you don’t have to. Or, more likely, flip that.
My other random pertains to the March 1st Google free for all with your private parts. Those that live within your web history, pervo. You know they track you, right? Hence all the free cereal coupons, ads for martial arts day camps(free your inner ninja, yo) and tips on how to date mature women(scribbles furiously) on the right hand side of your Gmail. Well, starting tomorrow they’re going to take all that 411 and toss it about the internets to the far corners of all Google products. It’s your call if you want to let it all hang out in exchange for the possibility of an “easier” internet experience, but there’s an easy fix from Cnet.com if you’re paranoid like me and like to play it close to the vest. (I don’t actually know what that phrase means, but I thought it made me sound sorta in with the conspiracy crew. I should probably stop thinking now. It’ll be better for both of us, I assure you. Peace out.)