two fewer hours in my life

This afternoon I donated two hours of my life to total inanity. I lied. It wasn’t a donation. Donations are voluntary. Two hours of MY afternoon were wrenched from my wrinkled hands. In another 30 years or so, I may NEED those two hours. The people who siezed them didn’t even have fun with them. They are much farther away from counting lost hours than I am.

Used to be I could roll with the abject waste of time. Or at least I thought I could. Now I have no illusions. When the TV show is boring, I leave the room. When the movie is a bust, I walk out. Two hours are more precious than the hope that for $20 and few more pained moments the return on investment will improve. I book.

Few things in this world are never a waste of time. Doing nothing with a grand-girl on my lap is the most important kind of enterprise. Baking, knitting, sewing, reading, or just laughing with one of those blonde sprites is more meaningful than an afternoon with the Dali Lama. Calling to talk to three and five year-olds may not be everyone’s idea of stimulating conversation but, had I been talking to them for two hours this afternoon instead of the dweebs who stole my time, I would be in a lot better humour right now.

God’s will

We each live by some value set. In my cash drawer for the universe, I collect coins that represent God’s will and God’s won’t. I am never sure when the news is good that it will stay good and I am never completely convinced that really shitty news is totally bad. So for every $20 gold piece, there is a lead slug. It makes for a very full drawer and a hard time making change.

We are gestating again. My girls spend a lot of time gestating. I happen to believe that a new baby is testimony from the Universe that life should go on…God voting “Yes.”

The funny part of their gestation is I seem to have to do it with them. Not that I mind, but I really was not a very effective gestator. SO I worry about every odd discharge, every swollen ankle, and rock-hard breast. I know more about ultra-sound than any 58 year old needs to know. And I know that it does no good at all to worry. The little bugger will either gestate happily to fruition or it won’t. Either way that little life will fulfill whatever its devine purpose may be. Even I will fulfill whatever my divine purpose may be.

Hi-ho Hi-ho

Work and blogs are mutually antagonistic. Some days I think that work and life are mutually antagonistic. One more writer has declined an offer of employment because to accept the distinct honor of joining our little troop she would have to take a 6% actual dollar pay cut, that, when combined with relocation to the sunshine tax capitol of the nation, raises the ante to something more like 20%. Hell, I like us and I wouldn’t take a cut or try to find housing in San Diego for the joy of our company.

Hello wordpress

I have just arrived…I brought my old stuff with me….except the blogroll I haven’t figured out how to export.

Bringing my old stuff with me is every bit as multi-entendred as Surviving Recovery. Yeah. I brought the old stuff with me. Some of it is good; some is sad; some is a plain old world-class pain in the ass. You are invited to chime into my life. Can’t say you will change my mind and I can’t say I would mind a change.

So, onward into the fray…

Reading up on depression

This week I have been doing the requisite annual self examination. Self examination may be a form of OCD. Some historical wag declared, “An unexamined life is not worth living.” An over-examined life is a pain in the butt. Right now, I want to find the measuring stick and break it in half. I am so very tired of not measuring up.  So, of course, that sends me to the internet to read up on depression.