cry

-stories on npr, like the teacher in afghanistan, who, despite death threats to her sons by the taliban, refuses to stop teaching because her students are "all our children, our people."

-snow in april

-everything left unsaid with rachel

-songs with too many memories attached, remnants of past lives

laugh

-wikipedia's entry on "Mr. Roboto"

-bugley

-alex trebek and paul together in the same room

-obvious overstated factoids, such as "Humans are the only species to develop bunions, as no other species wears shoes." uh, what about horses? har har

well, not *guzzling* per se.....but certainly cushy in my american clothes, coat, vehicle, headed to a cozy home without 28 inhabitants to share the 7 rooms and with drinking water that isn't sewage.

so went the story the other day of an iraqi family, who can't afford propane to boil the impurities out of the water, since no one can work, since they are basically in hiding and/or their workplaces have been bombed the living shit out of. so they just let the water sit for a day, and the big stuff settles but the water still tastes like shit.

only read this if you want to become angry, depressed, and/or hopeless about not only US involvement in this 'war', but the state of the world and the fucked up nature of war in the first placenpr

lives are lives and not numbers, but 3,166 american lives vs. a possible 650,000 iraqi? and WTF with the bush administration's "guesstimate" of 30,000. i'm not surprised, but i'm goddamned pissed, and i don't know what to do about it.

i read a political comic the other day satirizing the complete blithe unwillingness of americans to let the war affect their daily lives in any way. i will admit, ok, yes, i am part of that problem. but other than an occasional bawl in the car, other than a many-times removed committal to keep myself informed, and other than flare ups of righteous indignation, is there anything that really *CAN* be done. i can't leave my job or family to hold a sign in NY or DC. or at least i'm not willing to. i admire the women in black organization, but feel slightly hypocritical about doing that, since i'm not willing to give up a lot of my time or energy, since honestly, i'm not ALL that into it.

i don't know. why did i even bother writing this on a public forum, if i really believe there is nothing to be done?

hmm. city or rural. the difficulty becomes land. while a city garden can be lush and wonderful, in the end it is a rectangle where the kids like fishies will bang into the sides of the tank eventually. however they and i and we have the advantage of lots of types of food and arts to feed us, and more than one option of transportation.

muy muy importante.

city schools. blech.
but ugly rural houses. blech.

and...would country living bore the hell out of us? certainly! we would have to find or make fun in the gardens and the woods, or bust. what of the winter? when even the free library is miles away.... and always drive drive drive everywhere, every day most likely. ew.

then naturally there is the option of leaving buffalo altogether, worried threadbare like the corner of an old afghan by now, should we stay or should we go...... february is a bitch of a month, in't it.

and i sort of like the nub under that left pinky, and that i have to pay extra attention to the fact that my 'a' is being typed properly. 'a's are everywhere, a lot. heh heh would always have to be heh heh, and never ha ha without it. everyone's laugh would be much more sarcastic, and the vaguely german spelling of 'lugh' to boot. srcstic lughing germns.

enough of that. i will get it fixed, then i will not remember what it was like, the feel under my pinky of this tiny green dot that resembles an upturned breast. oh, all the things we don't see that govern our lives so. how quickly our focus shifts to survive a simple 24.

enough of that as well, miss wax fantastic. i like southern yankee's 'i despise' list. it is so much more honest to do this in january than resolution-ing. i despise getting older, when there is no one to tell you you're doing just fine anymore. when you have to convince yourself you are, and of many other things. i despise thinking of it as 'getting older,' which only makes me feel it more precisely.

on my languorous drive to work, i began to think about some well spent times of yore, and to sort of feel as though they were colors of a sort, vibrant or shady, and then almost taking on a texture as well, like tattered or shiny or, oh, waffle weave, say. it makes me think i should make something out of fabric, but then also i got to thinking of a (particularly female) preoccupation with redecorating rooms, and almost wondered if my 'colors of my youth' meanderings tie into that. that if the 'colors' and 'textures' aren't happening to you (or if you aren't making them happen) as experience, you will then try to impose it physically (change of scenery/brighten a room/liven things up are commonly used phrases for the phenomenon) upon your world.

but when you are done, then what?

you might just need to rework your sentence so it does not possess one ' '.

well, in comparison at least.

3 year disintegration, during which either 1) families and/or individuals dissolve, the effervescence of which bubbles constantly against my skin, up and around my breathing apparati, so that i can only get sips of air in the constant onslaught. or 2) there is no dissolution, simply an ever present parental/familial lack unnoticed due to a heretofore preoccupation with self, i.e. immaturity; which made life seem as grand as most dub their childhood. was the childhood grand, or simply the perception of it? perhaps this is only my adult self learning to breathe.

Mother: who will i give my love to?

Father: i give it to God, who will solve everything.

Mother: did you say something?

Father: who are you? well, how bout i'll come over, but not to find out. (next day) i'm sick. i can't come over. (repeat)

Mother: will anyone love me, ever again?

Father: if there's no pain, praise God. if there's pain, praise God anyway. You can read the book of Job about that.

Mother: i spent much more than i meant to this weekend. (repeat)

Grandmother: let's see.....knight, bishop, pawn, qu--oh, okay, queen (phew).....now where did that other knight get off to?

uncle: when do we eat?

stepmother: i'm not fine, and i want everyone to know it.

stepfather: i'm fine, and i want no one to know it.



me: