Totally and completely serious tonight

If you are seeking wit, please do not read any further. I have no humor today. I am struggling, and I am not sure what to do with this lack of battle. That's right. I said lack of battle. A close family friend committed suicide in June, and there is absolutely nothing I can do to make it better. I prefer a battle. There is at least a small chance that I will win.

Todd was really my husband's friend first, but he was the kind of person that took the time to get to know me as my own person, and I adored him for that. He was polite and selfless. He was handsome and funny. He was a wonderful father, and he was a dumbass with a drug problem.

I say this to draw attention to a point that has always bothered me in stories like this. Somehow, when it's not someone you know personally, that fact that drugs played a factor serves as some sort of reasoning, as though there is suddenly some justice there.

A death is no less tragic if the person had a problem. In many ways, it is even more upsetting.

I want so badly to write about this. I need the release that comes with getting it on paper. But it won't come. This attempt just won't do. There is just no comfort at all.

Random Thoughts

As I was leaving the local Mexican restaurant last week, I noticed a mini cooper with "Red Bull" emblazoned on all surfaces. Clearly, it was a salesperson's car, but it got me seeing imaginary headlines...

"Red Bull salesman falls asleep at wheel?!..."
"Red Bull salesman arrested after twelve-night stand-off with local police...."
"Red Bull salesman injured in failed flight attempt..."
"Extensive studies prove that Red Bull and LSD do not mix..."

I don't know why I think these things. I realize it is a perfectly wasteful use of otherwise valuable brain matter. I can't help it!

I actually used to work in publishing, and I loved it. I loved seeing my byline. I loved playing editor. I loved writing headlines. Why is it that all the really cool jobs pay little over minimum wage? If I could feed my family and get ahead, I'd run back to that job in a heartbeat. I'm sure it gets a little stickier at the large-scale urban newspapers, but in small town, USA, journalists get an up-close, front row view of the reality of some things like local power and the drive behind it. The happenings of government. The connections. Small town journalists hold quite a few cards, and yet get paid about $10 per hour. It makes you think, doesn't it? ...

Commuting: Fun, fun for everyone!

So, now that the economy is in total disarray, and I already live in a distressed, rural area, my career ladder has taken me on a journey... 125 miles round trip every day. I should start by saying that I am one of the lucky ones. I have a good, professional position that isn't likely to disappear anytime soon. I know it is absolutely shameful for me to complain, so I will attempt to (thinly) veil it...

When I began my new job in June, it was a breath of fresh air. I had been in my previous position for 7+ years and was experiencing a bit of burnout - not full-blown burnout, mind you. I was not pacing the hallways humming the "Jaws" theme or anything. No, I was simply a little singed, and I needed a change.

This is good since the political machine was going to force change on me whether I preferred it or not. The Guv'na had changed, a political favor was owed, and so out I went on to bigger, better and FARTHER things.

The midwest in the summer is hot but beautiful, if one has air conditioning. My SUV did not. Yes, that's right. I took on this lovely scenic cross-country drive in an SUV as gasoline prices were topping $4 per gallon...while wearing business suits...with no air. Brilliant, eh? Okay, so it wasn't a breath of fresh air after all. It was almost immediately a breath of superheated, furnace-stoked, stifling, humid air. After shelling out more than $400 in gas per month and melting away extra weight in my personal sauna for two hours a day, I downsized to a tuna can-type car with air in September... you know, just when the temperature is cooling down alongside the gas prices. As I said, brilliant!!!

So, although summer is a bitch, autumn is stunning, and I actually came to enjoy my drive for the two weeks that comprise fall here. Then, I blinked, and winter came. Now my journey is an ADVENTURE. I've seen vehicles in ditches, on their tops, and in the median. Personally, I thought it might be more interesting to take my vehicle over an embankment into a ravine one morning just for the dramatic effect. It really was impressive.

I've also racked up two speeding tickets over the past four months. I made it more than 30 years of life and about 17 years of driving without a single ticket. Now, two in short order. Where were these guys when I played Dukes of Hazzard that icy morning?!

I'm not an unattractive girl, so the complete lack of leverage on the speeding tickets was initially unnerving. I thought, "Am I really getting that old? Have I lost 'IT'?" Although this may very well be the case, I am still fairly certain that the officer(s) just couldn't get past my hideously plain and utterly styleless car. It's like seeing a hot guy at a bar just to realize he's wearing MC Hammer pants and a denim jacket. It's just a deal-breaker.

The only pure benefit that my commute provides is the two-hour concert I hold every day. I am a music junkie, so the luxury of a private space with my tunes is superb...except for one thing. It is really only pseudo-private. My fellow motorists find my antics hilarious. I'm convinced that there are some travelers that plan their morning drives to correlate with my performances. I used to care a little. I don't any longer. Hell, it's now a game. How many motorists driving yellow cars will visibly laugh if I appear to be performing opera as I pass? Exactly how many ridiculous facial features am I capable of, and how do I acquire more? Can I actually make motorists consider calling for medical attention to assist me based solely on my unique in-vehicle song and dance act? It is both disturbing and delightful.

There are so many more wonderful facets to discuss on this topic, but as it is now 2:40 a.m. and my drive begins in less than five hours, I believe I'll have to leave you with a cliffhanger, a part deux, if you will.

To be continued...(if the mood so strikes at some point in the future.)

Don't ever get married...

"Enjoy Harvey's Bristol Cream Sherry for any occasion.." is says on the pretty blue glass bottle with the elegant replaceable cork. Is waking up an occasion? I love my collection of glasses in their various shapes. Pilsner glasses. Brandy snifters. Champagne flutes. And the gorgeous diamond-etched miniature stemmed sherry glasses.

I love the sound of a freshly opened bottle being tipped into a glass. I love the rising pitch the thick liquid makes as it is poured. I love the beautiful amber color and the sweet/strong aroma. I love the way it coats the glass on its trip from my lips back to its resting position on the table. I even love the way it looks just sitting there among my books and writings.

I am not an alcoholic, but I understand the mentality. This is a love affair, only I'm just at the flirty, getting-to-know-you stage. This is still charming.

I used to be pretty...

When I was a teenager and an early twenty-something, I was pretty. I did not really know this. I worked hard physically, so I had a slammin' body...but, alas, I didn't know this either. I had not yet figured out what to do with my hair, and my style was hit and miss, but looking back, I realize that I really was a pretty girl... a pretty girl with a great rack.

This was part of the problem. The whole universe revolved around my rack, to my extreme horror. Guys did not look me in the eye. Ever. So, it really didn't matter if I was pretty or funny or smart. I had an impossible-to-ignore bosom. It defined me. While other girls were trying to acentuate their lacking breasts, I was doing everything in my power to minimize the appearance of mine, to no avail.

Fast forward 15 years. Although not fat, I no longer have a slammin' body. (There are some who disagree with this statement, but it is true according to my frame of reference.) I have given birth. I work a desk job instead of hard manual labor. I still have a freakishly large chest, but I've come to accept it. Hell, I've come to learn to work it. I do not understand what women have against their 30s. It is so liberating to be comfortable in my skin finally. It is beyond expression to have incorporated all of my vast experiences into my body of working knowledge. It is amazing to have confidence, to meet others' smiles with my own instead of dropping my eyes to the floor.

I used to be pretty. Now, I am beautiful...big bust and all.

And it begins...

I have free rein, now what to do with it? I suppose I'll start by saying that I'm weary from always being under public scrutiny. I've had to play nicely in the political sandbox for so long that my actual opinions are beginning to blur. It is unfortunate that the molding of humans into mindless drones starts so very young. It is also unfortunate that it never really stops. There is always a craftsman with his/her foot on the wheel.

Even as a writer, I have become censored (or censored myself?) in fear of some unknown repercussions to my career. Yes, I know that I chose a career that placed me in such a position, but such is life. As anyone with a career that spans more than 10 years knows, choice only factors for about 40% of the outcome. Much of it is chance. Much is dumb luck... or lack thereof.

So, I hope that I can use this forum to spout off on a few subjects. I tend to lean toward humor in my description of events and people. I hope I just accidentally stumble upon some interest out there somewhere. I will happily take subject suggestions. This blog will be far more entertaining for all if it can be interactive. So comment. Debate. Laugh. Enjoy.