I'd like to tell you what's going on with the green card thing, but sadly I can't because I have no idea. So I wrote a song instead.
Deportation Blues
Oh, my baby's got a Green Card,
and I got the Deportation Blues.
That's right! My baby's got that Green Card...
and I got the Deportation Blues.
Well, they tole him down to the INS
That he ain't got the right
To be makin' payments on this house
or sleepin' well at night.
They took him down to that ol' sterile room
and tole him he better pray
that Guatemala still has space for him
'Cuz he's leaving' for there today.
Oh, my baby's got a Green Card,
and I got the Deportation Blues.
Oh, yes, my honey's got a Green Card,
and I got them Deportation Blues.
Well, I know he came here legally --
As legal as legal can be.
He had himself a pretty wife
And his own Social Security.
But now they're sayin' that Green Card
They done sent him in the mail
Ain't really a valid Green Card,
And I say, "What the hale?!?"
Lawd, my baby's got a Green Card,
and I got the Deportation Blues.
Oh, yes, my darlin's got a Green Card,
but me, I got the Deportation Blues.
Well now, my baby got hisself a lawyer,
With steel a-glintin' in her eye.
"They ain't sendin' you back to Guate,"
She's sayin', "till I lay down and die."
And now we sit here waitin',
Just a-hopin' she's pistol-smart,
'Cuz if my baby done gets deported...
Well, my Spanish just ain't up to par.
See, my baby's got his green card,
and I got the Deportation Blues.
Oh yes, my sweetie's got a Green Card...
Oh but Ahhhh...Ahhh got...them Deeeeportaaaaaation Bluuuuuues.
Yeahhhh.
Friday, August 29
Wednesday, August 27
new things for an old year
It's the first day of school and I'm ready with my never-before-used backpack, an unopened package of yellow no. 2 pencils, an ultra-mod new purple plaid mini-skirt, and butterflies in my stomach.
Oh, don't I wish.
All I've actually got is a new-to-me cotton shirt with purple butterflies all over it and the fervent hope that I don't give some poor student the wrong directions as she attempts to navigate the labyrinthine halls of our great concrete fortress of learning.
Working now at a school, I find that I miss those last days of summer vacation when the sun is rising later and the air is tumbled with smoke and leaves. The bittersweet anticipation of a new start even as the year begins its slow decline into winter. The new pencils. Unsharpened, with their clean woody scent.
But then, the onset of fall always makes me a little melancholy. And that, too, is probably a good reason to buy myself a pack of new pencils.
Oh, don't I wish.
All I've actually got is a new-to-me cotton shirt with purple butterflies all over it and the fervent hope that I don't give some poor student the wrong directions as she attempts to navigate the labyrinthine halls of our great concrete fortress of learning.
Working now at a school, I find that I miss those last days of summer vacation when the sun is rising later and the air is tumbled with smoke and leaves. The bittersweet anticipation of a new start even as the year begins its slow decline into winter. The new pencils. Unsharpened, with their clean woody scent.
But then, the onset of fall always makes me a little melancholy. And that, too, is probably a good reason to buy myself a pack of new pencils.
Saturday, August 23
lost in translation
We have a niece named Lita in Guatemala. Lita is, oh, let's say about eight years old with jet-black curls and plump, rosy lips. She's this tiny, gorgeous little girl. She's also a bit sassy in a sweet, unexpected kind of way.
It's going to put her squarely in the middle of Trouble when she's older.
So every once in a blue moon we get a call from Lita. Extra cell phone minutes, no rollover, something about her dad, blah blah blah. She says this all in Spanish to Raphael, so I don't really know the full story.
Anyway, she called yesterday to tell Raphael happy birthday (while also using up some of those pesky minutes) and at one point, he handed the phone to me:
Jenny: Hello!!!
Lita: (something)
Silence.
Jenny: How are you?
Lita: (something something something)
Jenny: What?
Lita: I am fine thank you and you.
Jenny: I'm fine too, thank you.
Silence.
Jenny: Are you practicing English?
Silence.
Jenny: (more slowly) Are you practicing English?
Lita: Yes.
Jenny: It's very good.
Silence.
Jenny: Do you want to talk to Raphael?
Silence.
Jenny: Um...hablas--
Raphael: Quieres...
Jenny: Quieres hablar a Raphael?
Lita: Si.
She was a little more shy than she is in person, but there was the language barrier, and she is only eight. I shook my head, chuckling fondly at her adorable girlie-ness as I handed the phone back to Raphael.
I could tell that she was less shy with him, because he kept laughing delightedly out loud at whatever she was saying. I assumed they were discussing ponies and glittery butterfly stickers or maybe the increasingly high cost of her cellular plan or something. But it turns out I was way off. Way off.
Apparently sweet, shy little Lita spent the whole time telling Raphael dirty jokes. Which she then insisted he translate for me.
The funniest joke went (from what I was able to gather) something like this: "So if you were a guy and p*** p*** p*** p*** ha ha ha! p*** p*** and also p*** ha ha! Get it? Oh come on! It's funny! Okay, maybe not so much in English."
P*** is the Spanish word for sh**, in case you're trying to work out the punchline.
Trouble better watch the heck out.
It's going to put her squarely in the middle of Trouble when she's older.
So every once in a blue moon we get a call from Lita. Extra cell phone minutes, no rollover, something about her dad, blah blah blah. She says this all in Spanish to Raphael, so I don't really know the full story.
Anyway, she called yesterday to tell Raphael happy birthday (while also using up some of those pesky minutes) and at one point, he handed the phone to me:
Jenny: Hello!!!
Lita: (something)
Silence.
Jenny: How are you?
Lita: (something something something)
Jenny: What?
Lita: I am fine thank you and you.
Jenny: I'm fine too, thank you.
Silence.
Jenny: Are you practicing English?
Silence.
Jenny: (more slowly) Are you practicing English?
Lita: Yes.
Jenny: It's very good.
Silence.
Jenny: Do you want to talk to Raphael?
Silence.
Jenny: Um...hablas--
Raphael: Quieres...
Jenny: Quieres hablar a Raphael?
Lita: Si.
She was a little more shy than she is in person, but there was the language barrier, and she is only eight. I shook my head, chuckling fondly at her adorable girlie-ness as I handed the phone back to Raphael.
I could tell that she was less shy with him, because he kept laughing delightedly out loud at whatever she was saying. I assumed they were discussing ponies and glittery butterfly stickers or maybe the increasingly high cost of her cellular plan or something. But it turns out I was way off. Way off.
Apparently sweet, shy little Lita spent the whole time telling Raphael dirty jokes. Which she then insisted he translate for me.
The funniest joke went (from what I was able to gather) something like this: "So if you were a guy and p*** p*** p*** p*** ha ha ha! p*** p*** and also p*** ha ha! Get it? Oh come on! It's funny! Okay, maybe not so much in English."
P*** is the Spanish word for sh**, in case you're trying to work out the punchline.
Trouble better watch the heck out.
Friday, August 22
nothing exotic to report
I ran into my spring semester writing teacher the other day. "I have nothing exotic to report," she said after I'd mentioned the whole Hawaii business to her and asked about her summer.
And just now it's come back to me, what she said, as I look into the bedroom and see Raphael sacked out on the bed at nine p.m. on a Friday night next to a mangy old mauled-up tennis ball. Wow. I'm thinking. That's pretty much exactly what's going on with me right now too. And you know what? For now, I'm perfectly okay with having nothing exotic to report.
And just now it's come back to me, what she said, as I look into the bedroom and see Raphael sacked out on the bed at nine p.m. on a Friday night next to a mangy old mauled-up tennis ball. Wow. I'm thinking. That's pretty much exactly what's going on with me right now too. And you know what? For now, I'm perfectly okay with having nothing exotic to report.
Tuesday, August 19
angry little kids + beach balls = good times
The party my sister hosted for my nephew Jack's first birthday last weekend made a lot of people very, very angry. Of course, it was a beach-themed party, so you can see how there was a lot of built-in potential for tension.
Raphael and I flew back to Ohio to celebrate with the family, only we didn't tell the parental half of the family. What's the point in being an adult if you can't freak your parents out every once in awhile, we always say. This was gonna be so great. Mom and dad would come out into the backyard and...Ha ha! Surprise! We're in Ohio! And we're leaving tomorrow! Ha ha! Stop crying! Like that.
Technically, nobody was angered by our unexpected appearance at first. My mother ran away when she saw us, but that turned out to be not so much out of shock as out of the fact that she had left a camera on the sidewalk or something.
But then they started thinking about it.
Dad: You had Julie pick you up in Dayton? You know, we're only twenty minutes away from the airport...
Mom: We could've picked you up.
Dad: It would've made all kinds of better sense for us to pick you up.
Mom: I could've spent all day yesterday with you.
Dad: Julie, what kind of gas mileage do you get?
Mom: We could've gone shopping.
Dad: Criminy. This is ridiculous.
Mom: (sobbing)
Dad: That's it. We're leaving. Lobster-shaped cookies be damned to hell.
But my parents are nothing if not resilient, so once we pulled out the lobster cookies and the Chinese barbequed pork, we were back on to party.
Most of us, anyway.
Soon after the food arrived, it became apparent that the Birthday Boy had no intention of "partying". For whatever reason, the cake seemed to anger him. Maybe it was taunting him very, very quietly. Maybe he'll just be one of Those People That Don't Like Cake. Whoever they are.
Jack: I'm terribly sorry, but... What. Exactly. Is that? Is that a cake? A cake? Seriously? Are you people imbeciles?!? I want no cake! In fact, I will not tolerate cake in my house! WAAAHHHH!
Cake: Bwuah ha ha ha!
And then there was the awkward moment when Eugene blew out the candle. Being a doctor and therefore presumably having some experience with these things, he must have assumed that his one-year-old son was not yet proficient enough in his coordination or perhaps wouldn't yet have the lung capacity to successfully blow out the candle on his own birthday cake. Or maybe Jack just seemed too angry to blow straight. For whatever misguided reason, Eugene blew out the candle.
Oh! The icy stare Julie gave him! A cold wind blew through the assembled guests and somebody gasped. A woman fainted. There was a piercing scream. A clock chimed as an owl hooted and flew away on silent wings. And -- somewhere -- a beagle-mix barked...
Julie: Noooo!
Eugene: What? He's only one! And angry! His aim would be way off!
Julie: Jack has to blow it out! It's his birthday cake!
Eugene: Oh, fine. Here, let me light it again...there. Now Jack can blow it out.
Julie: (puffs up cheeks) phoo!
Eugene: You're not a better parent than me, you know. You're just way more obnoxious.
But despite the tension that permeated the party, it was all very nice. No one drowned in the kiddie pool and Jack eventually recovered from having delicious, sugary icing forced into his mouth while thirty people stared and cooed adoringly at him.
Tomorrow, I'll tell you about how we took Jack and Raphael to Fairborn's annual Sweet Corn Festival for the first time ever -- oop...just did.
Raphael and I flew back to Ohio to celebrate with the family, only we didn't tell the parental half of the family. What's the point in being an adult if you can't freak your parents out every once in awhile, we always say. This was gonna be so great. Mom and dad would come out into the backyard and...Ha ha! Surprise! We're in Ohio! And we're leaving tomorrow! Ha ha! Stop crying! Like that.
Technically, nobody was angered by our unexpected appearance at first. My mother ran away when she saw us, but that turned out to be not so much out of shock as out of the fact that she had left a camera on the sidewalk or something.
But then they started thinking about it.
Dad: You had Julie pick you up in Dayton? You know, we're only twenty minutes away from the airport...
Mom: We could've picked you up.
Dad: It would've made all kinds of better sense for us to pick you up.
Mom: I could've spent all day yesterday with you.
Dad: Julie, what kind of gas mileage do you get?
Mom: We could've gone shopping.
Dad: Criminy. This is ridiculous.
Mom: (sobbing)
Dad: That's it. We're leaving. Lobster-shaped cookies be damned to hell.
But my parents are nothing if not resilient, so once we pulled out the lobster cookies and the Chinese barbequed pork, we were back on to party.
Most of us, anyway.
Soon after the food arrived, it became apparent that the Birthday Boy had no intention of "partying". For whatever reason, the cake seemed to anger him. Maybe it was taunting him very, very quietly. Maybe he'll just be one of Those People That Don't Like Cake. Whoever they are.
Jack: I'm terribly sorry, but... What. Exactly. Is that? Is that a cake? A cake? Seriously? Are you people imbeciles?!? I want no cake! In fact, I will not tolerate cake in my house! WAAAHHHH!
Cake: Bwuah ha ha ha!
And then there was the awkward moment when Eugene blew out the candle. Being a doctor and therefore presumably having some experience with these things, he must have assumed that his one-year-old son was not yet proficient enough in his coordination or perhaps wouldn't yet have the lung capacity to successfully blow out the candle on his own birthday cake. Or maybe Jack just seemed too angry to blow straight. For whatever misguided reason, Eugene blew out the candle.
Oh! The icy stare Julie gave him! A cold wind blew through the assembled guests and somebody gasped. A woman fainted. There was a piercing scream. A clock chimed as an owl hooted and flew away on silent wings. And -- somewhere -- a beagle-mix barked...
Julie: Noooo!
Eugene: What? He's only one! And angry! His aim would be way off!
Julie: Jack has to blow it out! It's his birthday cake!
Eugene: Oh, fine. Here, let me light it again...there. Now Jack can blow it out.
Julie: (puffs up cheeks) phoo!
Eugene: You're not a better parent than me, you know. You're just way more obnoxious.
But despite the tension that permeated the party, it was all very nice. No one drowned in the kiddie pool and Jack eventually recovered from having delicious, sugary icing forced into his mouth while thirty people stared and cooed adoringly at him.
Tomorrow, I'll tell you about how we took Jack and Raphael to Fairborn's annual Sweet Corn Festival for the first time ever -- oop...just did.
Thursday, August 14
a lesson in living well
Upon waking at 4 o'clock in the morning, Dog immediately greets her loved ones with a big, juicy smile and lots of kisses and tail-wagging. Dog feels it is important to demonstrate affection as soon as the day begins. Dog then jumps up on the bed between her loved ones and snuggles up against them, paws braced on one, back pushing against the other so that Dog can be comfortable in the center of the bed. Dog knows that creating personal space for oneself is one of the keys to being happy around others.
Dog understands, too, the importance of stretching out the body, really being aware of the physical self. To that end, Dog rolls onto her back in the space she has created for herself on the bed and sticks her front feet straight up in the air. In order to really open up her chakra, Dog feels that letting her hind legs fall open, exposing her soft belly to the moist morning air in a horizontal plane of utter relaxation is the proper way to go. Breathing is also very important, so Dog concentrates on deep, even breathing, meditating her way into full consciousness.
As golden light eases through the window, Dog rolls over, having finished her early morning meditation, stands up on the bed, stretches first back, butt up high in the air, and then forward, butt as low as it will go, and shakes in a joyful jangling of tags and a cloud of fur. It is important to begin every day with joy in the power of the body, she feels. She then showers a second slobbery wave of affection on her loved ones, knowing that they will feel better about themeselves if they wake up understanding that they are loved unconditionally.
And then, because Dog feels that exercise and play share a vital roll in the health of the body and the mind, she typically launches herself off the bed, breaking into ecstatic butt-shaking and raising her voice in spirit-lifting howl-ey song, as she greets the dawn and searches for toys with which to celebrate her happiness that it is morning.
Excercise and song period over, Dog finally finds a bone that needs chewing and settles happily into the routine of her daily tasks, knowing that good, hard work is the backbone of a healthy soul.
Dog understands, too, the importance of stretching out the body, really being aware of the physical self. To that end, Dog rolls onto her back in the space she has created for herself on the bed and sticks her front feet straight up in the air. In order to really open up her chakra, Dog feels that letting her hind legs fall open, exposing her soft belly to the moist morning air in a horizontal plane of utter relaxation is the proper way to go. Breathing is also very important, so Dog concentrates on deep, even breathing, meditating her way into full consciousness.
As golden light eases through the window, Dog rolls over, having finished her early morning meditation, stands up on the bed, stretches first back, butt up high in the air, and then forward, butt as low as it will go, and shakes in a joyful jangling of tags and a cloud of fur. It is important to begin every day with joy in the power of the body, she feels. She then showers a second slobbery wave of affection on her loved ones, knowing that they will feel better about themeselves if they wake up understanding that they are loved unconditionally.
And then, because Dog feels that exercise and play share a vital roll in the health of the body and the mind, she typically launches herself off the bed, breaking into ecstatic butt-shaking and raising her voice in spirit-lifting howl-ey song, as she greets the dawn and searches for toys with which to celebrate her happiness that it is morning.
Excercise and song period over, Dog finally finds a bone that needs chewing and settles happily into the routine of her daily tasks, knowing that good, hard work is the backbone of a healthy soul.
Wednesday, August 13
Monday, August 11
immegafaunagration
What would you think if I said: "Ha! It was all just a big crazy joke, that whole immigration thing!"
Not as funny as, say, people dying, right?
Well, lucky day for you, I guess, because I can't say that at all.
But of course, as is the new Rule around here, we're not thinking about dramatic things like deportation anymore until the day The Lawyer calls and says, "Yay! Now you owe me eight thousand well-earned bucks because I totally rock, having singlehandedly fought the fiendish immigration people and won you back your right to say, 'I have a green card!' From now on, you will be called Permanent Resident Man, and together you and I will fight oppression and save sad families with their adorable little crying children from sinister immigration people plots and whatnot! What a gorgeous girlfriend you have! Let's all do shots!"
Oh, and also, I got back yesterday from the Pecos Conference in lush, lovely Flagstaff where they have tall green fluffy things they call trees, and cold cold water falls from the sky while the gods bowl, and tents flip end-over-end in the wind while Smart People talk of comets and extinctions and carbonate spherules and other people drink beer out of plastic cups and wonder why they can't understand what's going on and when the dance party's actually going to start and exactly how big was megafauna anyhow?
wildflowers galore
view from our campsite of the big tents
our campsite w/mountains and approaching storm
view from our campsite
Not as funny as, say, people dying, right?
Well, lucky day for you, I guess, because I can't say that at all.
But of course, as is the new Rule around here, we're not thinking about dramatic things like deportation anymore until the day The Lawyer calls and says, "Yay! Now you owe me eight thousand well-earned bucks because I totally rock, having singlehandedly fought the fiendish immigration people and won you back your right to say, 'I have a green card!' From now on, you will be called Permanent Resident Man, and together you and I will fight oppression and save sad families with their adorable little crying children from sinister immigration people plots and whatnot! What a gorgeous girlfriend you have! Let's all do shots!"
Oh, and also, I got back yesterday from the Pecos Conference in lush, lovely Flagstaff where they have tall green fluffy things they call trees, and cold cold water falls from the sky while the gods bowl, and tents flip end-over-end in the wind while Smart People talk of comets and extinctions and carbonate spherules and other people drink beer out of plastic cups and wonder why they can't understand what's going on and when the dance party's actually going to start and exactly how big was megafauna anyhow?
wildflowers galore
view from our campsite of the big tents
our campsite w/mountains and approaching storm
view from our campsite
Thursday, August 7
don't worry, be angsty
You don't know this, but I'm not at work. And I shouldn't be, so that works out okay I guess. But part of the whole not-being-at-work-today thing is that I'm actually supposed to be in Flagstaff at a southwest archaeology conference. With the people I work with. So it's kind of like being at work, only with mosquitos, foldy chairs, dogs, kids, tents, beer, bluegrass, and archaeology (as opposed to administrative tasks).
Instead, I went with Raphael to the immigration office early this morning and an hour later, even though nothing more traumatic than usual had actually happened, proceeded to freak out while packing the cooler.
Jenny: Where the f*** is the half n' half!?!
Raphael: The half of what?
Jenny: I don't know what it is!!! Half milk half cream?!? Who cares!?! I need it!!! I can't go to Flagstaff with no half n' half!!!
Raphael: Is this about the green card?
Jenny: No!! Shut up!!!
Anyway, what with the missing half n' half, the new and fun burning pain in my stomach, the forgetfulness, and the unexpected bouts of anger, it seemed reasonable to not drive the four hours up to Flag. Alone. Look, ma! I can make adult decisions now!
I'll leave tomorrow morning instead and won't have internet access again until late Sunday.
So the deal is this: only one person is allowed to worry about this for the next three days, and that is The Lawyer.
My sister asked me on the phone this afternoon to tell her when deportation jokes are funny again. I told her deportation jokes will always be funny. They'll be funny until we're on the boat to Guatemala. In fact, they'll probably be even funnier then because nothing is more hysterical than things that are funny because they're so true. (Unless you count me, of course.) (See? Funny because it's true!)
So, on that note, I think everyone should quit being afeared for Raphael's status and start looking into tickets to Guatemala. After all, it's always nicer to visit a place when you've got people to stay with.
Instead, I went with Raphael to the immigration office early this morning and an hour later, even though nothing more traumatic than usual had actually happened, proceeded to freak out while packing the cooler.
Jenny: Where the f*** is the half n' half!?!
Raphael: The half of what?
Jenny: I don't know what it is!!! Half milk half cream?!? Who cares!?! I need it!!! I can't go to Flagstaff with no half n' half!!!
Raphael: Is this about the green card?
Jenny: No!! Shut up!!!
Anyway, what with the missing half n' half, the new and fun burning pain in my stomach, the forgetfulness, and the unexpected bouts of anger, it seemed reasonable to not drive the four hours up to Flag. Alone. Look, ma! I can make adult decisions now!
I'll leave tomorrow morning instead and won't have internet access again until late Sunday.
So the deal is this: only one person is allowed to worry about this for the next three days, and that is The Lawyer.
My sister asked me on the phone this afternoon to tell her when deportation jokes are funny again. I told her deportation jokes will always be funny. They'll be funny until we're on the boat to Guatemala. In fact, they'll probably be even funnier then because nothing is more hysterical than things that are funny because they're so true. (Unless you count me, of course.) (See? Funny because it's true!)
So, on that note, I think everyone should quit being afeared for Raphael's status and start looking into tickets to Guatemala. After all, it's always nicer to visit a place when you've got people to stay with.
Wednesday, August 6
just wondering
Isn't it a rite of passage when you retain a lawyer for the first time in your life? Shouldn't you all be sending me crystal butterflies and cute bathroom hand towels and blank checks and things?
Tuesday, August 5
citizenship shenanigans
Some of you may have noticed that I deleted the last post I wrote about my secret plan to get Raphael deported.
Huh. Funny story.
So, my amusing little post hit just a bit too close to what could've happened if my boy wasn't so well-dressed and polite (and I'm not talking about the sea-green, sequined prom dress). Let's just say "green card" apparently doesn't always mean "green card", even though almost nothing about this sentence makes logical sense. Maybe I'll explain later. Most likely I'll just try to pretend this whole drama never happened.
But probably I'll re-publish yesterday's prom-dress/deportation post once we've recovered a bit from the trauma of being threatened for no good reason by the US government. Just give me a day or two to get with the right lawyers.
Huh. Funny story.
So, my amusing little post hit just a bit too close to what could've happened if my boy wasn't so well-dressed and polite (and I'm not talking about the sea-green, sequined prom dress). Let's just say "green card" apparently doesn't always mean "green card", even though almost nothing about this sentence makes logical sense. Maybe I'll explain later. Most likely I'll just try to pretend this whole drama never happened.
But probably I'll re-publish yesterday's prom-dress/deportation post once we've recovered a bit from the trauma of being threatened for no good reason by the US government. Just give me a day or two to get with the right lawyers.
Sunday, August 3
well, i didn't know "spangled " was a word...
The Guatemalan is studying for his citizenship test.
Jenny: Okay, next question. "What is the national anthem of the United States?"
Raphael: Uh...
Jenny: Come on, you know this one.
Raphael: The...Star...Flag...
Jenny: Yes?
Raphael: The "Star Flag Spanker".
Jenny: The "Star Flag Spanker"?
Raphael: Yes.
Jenny: I don't think they're going to let you in.
Jenny: Okay, next question. "What is the national anthem of the United States?"
Raphael: Uh...
Jenny: Come on, you know this one.
Raphael: The...Star...Flag...
Jenny: Yes?
Raphael: The "Star Flag Spanker".
Jenny: The "Star Flag Spanker"?
Raphael: Yes.
Jenny: I don't think they're going to let you in.
grumpalicious
Today I'm grumpy.
It's hot and humid and there are mosquitoes and for some reason everyone has a fly problem this month and I'm dehydrated and grumpy.
My dog had to stay at the vet's overnight because of problems involving her finicky digestive tract and I'm grumpy. She's dehydrated and probably grumpy too.
I thought I'd perk myself up by creating beautiful, brightly colored mosaic designs on the ramada posts out back but all the tile stores are closed today and I can't get red tiles and it's making me grumpy. Beige tiles always make me grumpy.
Tomorrow's Monday and I can't help but be grumpy about it.
I've heard about techniques that can help make one less grumpy, such as exercise or forcing oneself to smile or meditation on happy things but right now, I think I'll just embrace my grumpiness.
In fact, I have nothing to write about other than being grumpy and it's making me grumpier than hell.
It's hot and humid and there are mosquitoes and for some reason everyone has a fly problem this month and I'm dehydrated and grumpy.
My dog had to stay at the vet's overnight because of problems involving her finicky digestive tract and I'm grumpy. She's dehydrated and probably grumpy too.
I thought I'd perk myself up by creating beautiful, brightly colored mosaic designs on the ramada posts out back but all the tile stores are closed today and I can't get red tiles and it's making me grumpy. Beige tiles always make me grumpy.
Tomorrow's Monday and I can't help but be grumpy about it.
I've heard about techniques that can help make one less grumpy, such as exercise or forcing oneself to smile or meditation on happy things but right now, I think I'll just embrace my grumpiness.
In fact, I have nothing to write about other than being grumpy and it's making me grumpier than hell.
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