say goodnight, gracie.

lawsy, lawsy,lawsy, mizz Scarlett!! i do declare, i was fit to be tied today. old man arthur executed one hellacious attack on my entire body for apparently, no obvious reasons. the weatherman ain't saying anything so i'm at a loss for the root of arthur's mischief. it was all of my joints too, as opposed to my normal hand and finger joints. my damn knees just about gave out on me. i had to put a wrap on each knee. and all day today i have been excited thinking about buying this new thing that icy hot has out now. i'm super stoked about it because i can customize it to accommodate my hands, which are different structurally than everybody else's hands. /sigh. look at me. look at what i have become; a house wife who gets excited over new icy hot products, and not having anymore room left in the towel/washcloth cabinet to put more towels and washcloths because i have them ALL clean, folded, and put away.


i have gone all zen and become one with my swiffer sweeper dust mop. i would say that i have begun the soul killing process of morphing into my mother, but she is not one with the dust mop. see, they dated a LONG time ago, back in the stone ages when she was married to the Evil Faux Czar (aka the male dna donor that helped create me). but when the Czar began to rob his own peoples out of everything, there was a colossal battle which led to the inner civil war that continues to rage on within me to this day. but i digress, at the sound of the battle call, weapons were drawn and blood painted the hands of all who touched the battle grounds. the blood stained the souls of the innocent. the deed was done; the line drawn. good and evil, the epic battle. the tug of war with me as the rope until the Evil Faux Czar lost interest and found a new kingdom more shiny than the kingdom he blackened with hate. it was in this war that my mother fought the dust mop. and still today, her epic battle with it rages on.

good goddess i need to go to bed. i'm creating a story about a fictitious battle between my mother and a damn swiffer sweeper. that goes beyond being just your southern eclectic, sarcastic narrator. i need help. no; i need sleep. i bid you au revoir, mes amis.

GISM #3 of 365:
i am grateful that good conquered evil.

count bessie rocks.

just the way a starving anaconda strangle its prey, arthritis has ensnarled my hands. i look like that damn chicken from the golden girls that played the piano, with the way i am pecking at this keyboard. (i am also massively contemptuous at my ability to correlate anything in my life to a golden girls moment. it takes talent, ya know. its not easy as one may think... well, either that or i am an incredibly enormous dork. which, in all truth, is most likely the answer.)
today i saw where somebody commented on how richard would be missed. naturally this sent me into a tail spin of fury. it was like a band-aid being ripped off of not just a papercut, but more to the tune of being ripped off of a chemically burned penetration wound. that was the catalyst for my thoughts to run all which ways, from north to south.
i do not think that i will EVER understand evil to that extreme. i have been mean, hateful, honory, indignant, bitchy, vengeful, spiteful, and even mischevious in my lifetime. any of us have. that is a part of growing up; going through various stages as we garden our personalities into fruition. but never has a morsel of evilness coursed through my veins. (i am sure that there are those out there who will eagerly testify against that proclamation.) no. no evil has ever resided within my soul.
his evil resignated hundreds of miles. a silent, deadly, invisible, devestating wave that channeled across all lines. it knew no boundries, and penetrated thoughts, hearts, fears, futures, souls, and the fabrics of peoples' day to day lives. like a hideous stain that you absolutely cannot remove from an article of clothing that you own. like aids.

his soul was the color of aids.

how he can be mourned is beyond me. i thank buddha that my (hopeful) children will never know the likes of him, i thank buddha that there is more air in this world for another to breathe, i thank buddha that only the memories of his abuse remain, i thank buddha that he can no longer torture my mama. i would rather take the abuse than my mom suffer anymore.
never have i seen eye to eye with her, because gosh knows, she is a DORK. i was merely his genetic offspring, so how in this world she endured his abuse definately casts light onto a new perspective i have for her. and not to mention, a newfound sense of respect.

anyways. enough of that. my add and ocd are in high working order today. yay!

apparently, i DO have a touch of the ocd, so says my therapist. this is intriguingly funny, because i have been telling the wife this for three years. (yet ANOTHER example of my being RIGHT.)

yesth. it feels good.

being right, that is.