Infighting, Gin-Texting

My id has a binge mentality — food, alcohol, Netflix — the more the merrier.  I could moderate, but, I can’t ever think of a good reason to, so I just end up doing it.

Ego

My super-ego, on the other hand, keeps a balanced checkbook.  Has a budget.  A list of alternative activities to binge eating and/or drinking — take a shower, walk my cat, learn a language.  She believes that one day…maybe even tomorrow…she will convince the id and the ego to take her well-researched-reasonable-practical-rational baby steps.  And she also believes she can convince the other two to take the steps over and over again into oblivion.  The id and the ego think she’s a super naggy constipated bore.

She is delusional, and my id and ego want to throw their beer cans at her.

My ego…I don’t know.  I never seem to be the same person from day to day.

On a related note — gin is my kryptonite.  I try to lay off, because it’s hard for me to just have one, and when I have more than one, I start gin-texting.  Nasty texting.  Or emailing.  For some reason, last night I wrote out a gin-fueled email, the first in a long time, correcting the spelling and getting the jabs just right, and then I deleted it without sending it.

That may not sound like too much of a feat to you, but believe me, it is.

One for super-ego buzz kill!  Way to show up just at the right time, for once.

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three things…

  1.  Gotta admire those who choose to follow my blog when I’m not writing regularly.  You are a Bad.  Ass.  (Meant to be a compliment.)
  2. WTF kind of word is “executrix?”  Actresses should be known as actors.  Executrix-es should be known as executors.  No need to call out genders, especially if the female one contains “trix.”  DISCUSS.
  3. And, the new copier at work says, “Recovering from sleep mode,” when it is gearing up from economy mode.  Whoever wrote that, please find me with your technological prowess.  We need to be a couple.  Seriously…”recovering” from “sleep?”  This person gets it.

The end.

DadDadDadDadDadDadDadDadDad

untitledFrom the daughter:

Dad bought a truck that looks just like your boyfriend’s.

Dad is taking me to Paris on an overnight train.

Dad is doing a lot of biking.

Dad bought a sailboat.

From the old neighbor:

They’re painting your house.  It’s sage.  Looks nice.

From the mom:

I’M FRIGGIN’ FINE!  THANKS FOR NEVER ASKING…

 

 

And letters have half-pints…

There are “capital” and “small,” or “upper” and “lower” case letters — Madonna and son, moms and babies, me’s and mini-me’s, adults and children, pints and half-pints.

letters

I guess numbers have Arabic (1) and Roman (I) versions, but it’s not as endearing.

Letters win again, in my opinion.

 

 

Letters are feminine and numbers are masculine,

Or, letters are cats, and numbers are dogs,

Or, letters are spoons, and numbers are forks,

Or, letters are socialists, and numbers are communists.  Fascists?  (I’m not versed on this…) — the opposite of socialists.

Letters love each other and cluster together — the more the merrier — (See supercalifragilisticexpialidocious).  However, there are certain letters who will only associate with others if their sidekicks can tag along (looking at you Q and U).  Or, they ride in a posse, like the “ing” gang.

In what they are trying to do, however, they are forgiving.  They make words you can string together correctly or not correctly, spelled right or spelled wrong, clear or not clear — speaker’s choice — but they all agree to endeavor to communicate a basic message.

Numbers are not having this nonsense.  There is no “not correct.”   The message is a success or a failure.  They add up or they don’t.  They’ll indiscriminately pair with any other number, and even letters if you’re not careful, but if the outcome is not “right,” the whole equation is scrapped.  Besides, numbers can be so….negative. th77SLVCUB

 

 

What do u think re this topik?

See, even though the question above should be, “What do you think about this topic?”, you still get the basic message.

That’s why letters can be so fun

and numbers can be so buttoned up…thR90UBOBF

 

Don’t you hate when the finish line moves at the last minute?

She was supposed to have her last chemo on June 19.  I can’t believe it is here after learning about her diagnosis last Thanksgiving.

But, she has an infection, and couldn’t get her treatment.  She can’t get it until the infection is cleared up.

The cat lady t-shirt and dangling cat earrings I was going to send her as a, “Well you slayed that dragon,” present haven’t come yet, so, there’s that…

She doesn’t Snapchat me anymore with her trademark goofy optimism.  I think I already said that.

I’m copied on group blasts, like the one about the infection, but she doesn’t communicate with me directly at this time.  Does she feel sicker than usual?  Depressed?  Does she need someone pushy to insist on doing things for her?

I’m worried.

Shocker, I know.  Me.  Worried.

She isn’t acting like herself, but let’s face it, she’s a whole new tempered self.

What does a person act like when their marathon’s finish line keeps moving farther away?

th14Z83N4F