I woke up around two-something last night and the dog was scratching and somehow I just couldn't settle back into dreams and everything annoyed me and you would have thought I was trying to sleep in Grand Central Station and then Mr. Moon got up and then he came back to bed and of course I had to ask, "Are you all right?" and of course he was fine. The man just got up to pee and then in reaching for my water I knocked over the clock and it clattered off the little chest of drawers which is my bedside table the way it does every night at least once and I couldn't get my fan aimed right and then the damn dog jumped off the bed and did that thing where he gets under the bed and scratches his back on it and somehow that five pound dog can make a King Sized bed with two adults in it shake.
He is a determined scratcher.
So finally I got up and took the dog into the kitchen and drank about half a gallon of grape cranberry juice (Mr. Moon got a little overenthusiastic with the garlic salt while cooking the pork chops on the grill and that is a huge understatement but we don't need to be eating pork anyway) and found one of the many New Yorker magazines I have stashed around the house so that when I land somewhere with Owen and he amuses himself for a moment or two, I can read a page or two and I got into the guest room bed and it still does not smell right in there and probably NEVER WILL AGAIN and I read part of an article about coaching but not sports and then part of a seemingly never-ending article about IKEA and we don't even have an IKEA anywhere near here and finally, that did the trick and I went to sleep again around four-something.
Jesus. IKEA stuffs its wooden furniture with paper to make it lighter and cheaper? Paper furniture? I had no idea.
So today I feel as if I've been hiking across the Alps or something, maybe the Sahara, maybe just spent a few hours in Tate's Hell and not the good parts, either. Mr. Moon is off to the hunting place to do something that isn't hunting but it's ABOUT hunting and I have no idea what I'm doing today. None.
I see that a conservative pastor who backs Rick Perry says that no one should vote for Mitt Romney because he's a Mormon and thus, not a Christian but a cult member and god damn, what's up with these Christians? Fuck that shit. Religion fucks up everything. Believe like me or you're going to hell. My religion is the true one, yours is a cult.
Well, I will say that ideas like the fact that Jesus or God resides on the Planet or Star named Kolob and that you need to wear magical underwear are pretty out there but so is the idea that Mary was a virgin and so forth.
To me it's all a bunch of fantastical stories which merely serve to distract us from the realities of what's right here in front of us this very moment and something I've been thinking about is how we humans love to create walls around ourselves which exclude "the other" and if there is a definition of what I believe it's that no one should be excluded based merely on bizarre ideas of what is godly and what is not.
I mean come on- you have to cut off part of your infant son's pee-pee so that the world and God will know he's a Jew? What?
Why is that any more acceptable to believe than the holy underwear thing? Why do religions fight about the "right" way to Baptize? Sprinkle versus dunk.
Sounds like a doughnut situation to me but no, no, there truly are people who believe that if you don't baptize the person properly and at the correct age, heaven's doors will be shut against them unto all eternity.
Come on, my angels. Let's dance on the head of this pin.
Well, anyway, I have some anger this morning, obviously and it's probably misdirected towards religion and conservative Christian pastors but the truth is- this shit actually seems to matter in the minds of many and will direct them as to how to vote. Intelligence and compassion and common sense and experience have nothing to do with it, no, just which version of god this one proclaims to accept versus that one.
I WANT MY COUNTRY BACK! GIVE IT BACK YOU RELIGIOUS PEOPLE!
Or something like that.
Damn. Maybe I should eat some breakfast. I have two of the hugest blue eggs you've ever seen. I might cook one of those although it almost seems wrong- like using a work of art to wipe your feet on. Speaking of which, there's a New Age-y place in Tallahassee that sells incense and books about Wiccan and they have charms and windchimes and CD's of that bamboo flutey music that goes nowhere for hours and they painted this rainbow type of mural on the cement of the entrance and then they put up a sign to walk lightly over it because it is ART and what kind of sense does that make? If you don't want people to walk on your fucking ART, then don't put it where people have to walk to enter your store.
They have a machine that'll read your aura too.
Okay. That's enough.
Happy Saturday, y'all.
Love...Ms. Moon The Old Curmudgeon Who Is An Equal-Opportunity Religion Slanderer
P.S. I cracked the egg and here it is. Almost enough to soothe me, that beautiful perfection of double-yolked gold. The cardinal is just there because I like it.