Agitato

Everything is just pissing me off today.
I looked at the paper and was informed that our governor is cutting more jobs and using his voodoo economics to try and run Florida like a business and god dammit, government is NOT a business, it's to keep the roads paved and the kids educated and the people taken care of who can't take care of themselves and, oh, don't get me started.

And then there's this whole hazing thing at FAMU where a kid died and oh boy, all of a sudden it's like everyone's going HAZING? HAZING? who let THAT happen? when, in fact, it's been going on forever and everyone knew it and now pastors are getting together to PRAY about it.
Like, okay, God- here's something you need to pay attention to because it's bad and we know you've been busy but please- can you do something to stop it? Just thought we'd point this out. Thanks. 

Then there's the Lifestyle section or whatever it's called these days and HEY! Did you know that this year PURPLE is huge? Yeah, but you know, you have to use it properly because it can be overwhelming. Like, oh maybe just use a lovely shade of purple to cover a favorite chair in the hallway.

The chair in my hallway is covered with toys and a hat. Who has the sort of life where they redecorate whenever one color becomes more popular than another?

Madge, did you know that purple is hot these days? Shouldn't we redo the wallpaper in the den with maybe some flecked plum thing? What do you think?


I think that if you like purple, it's already being used in your house and if you don't, who cares if it's the hot color for decorating this year?

Jesus. Humans. We're so fucking weird.

And I'm agitated because Buster is obviously pretty darn ill. I didn't think he'd make it through the night. So what do we do? Go spend hundreds on lab tests to find out he has some horrible dog disease that we're not going to treat him for anyway? Approximately thirty percent of what Mr. Moon and I talk about is how we wish these dogs would disappear and how tired we are of cleaning up their poop and pee. The dog is eleven or twelve years old. And I apologize to you dog-lovers out there. I do. But honestly- I've never been one and I've been stuck with four dogs forever and finally Pearl died, the Oldest Living Boxer on the planet, and Zeke is mostly living with Lily and Jason and Owen and now...well...

But THE GUILT!

Well, he doesn't seem to be suffering. He's just sort of laying there. He did get up and go out this morning to pee and he did drink water. So.

I don't know. I just do not know. I know I feel overwhelmed and although I haven't looked in the mirror, avoiding that at all costs most mornings, I feel certain that there is a big L branded into my forehead, perhaps scarlet, perhaps PURPLE and that's what it's like here in Lloyd this morning where it's cold and clear and Elvis the Rooster has his feathers back and looks fine and sartorial in his black and white with that lovely accent of red and Owen's coming at one.

Frankly, I think you should stop whatever you're doing right this second and go read what Maggie May posted today or maybe last night, whatever. I love it. And it suits my mood.

And oh yes, today is the anniversary of John Lennon's murder and perhaps that explains why I am in such a foul mood, still angry after all of these years when actually, I should just be grateful that he was here with us for the time he was, bless him, bless him, bless him.