No great satisfaction to be had here, at the moment. Oh, I don't really have much to complain about. Although being a sometimes typical human, I do feel it to be my duty to complain about what I can. Things I can't complain about today: the weather, since it's a beautiful day here in southern New England; today's schedule, my only appointment is with a book, and maybe a little head-rubbing of Eddie's (my little cockatiel brother) feather-challenged crown; and my physical well being, as I have food to eat (both healthy and not so healthy), wonderful tea of many different varieties. And I did get in a decent jog early this morning, which was hollowed by a wonderful shower. Then I was able to enjoy three of my favorite TV programs: The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, The Colbert Report with Steven (or is it Stephen?) Colbert, and 2 hours of Doctor Who. What more could I want?
Aahhh...You shouldn't ask that question.
Anyroad. For myself, I am content. But it would be nice to have the money/power (sometimes they equal the same thing) to fix all the world's problems, and give all people (the good, the bad, and the evil) exactly what they deserve. But then, I am only human. And in the end, what I enjoy most, is making people laugh. My dream would be to bring laughter to all the people struggling along in the world, who truly need and deserve it.
And, me thinks, that is what makes me the happiest. Laughter. Not to laugh alone, but to share it the way you share a life affirming meal. So. Complain if you must. Be sure to appreciate what you have. And do your best to laugh as often as you can.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
Giant Birds, Wonderful & Scary Bears (Ok, One Wonderful & Scary Bear), & Wackos (Both Good, & Bad)
I've been quite lax as of late in maintaining a blogging flow, so to speak. Mainly due to sleep issues, which are related to my continuing battle with CFIDS (Chronic Fatigue Immune Dysfunction Syndrome). But they still say it won't kill me, and because I have to take care of Eddie, my little brother of the cockatiel persuasion, and provide a sanctuary as well as look for Albert, my cousin (he doesn't like to think of himself as being closely related to humans) of the large bearish type, I can't kill me. Besides. My mother, sister (one of them, anyway), and brother wouldn't forgive me.
Anyroad, while wrestling with what little sleep I could snatch from the jaws of insomnia last night, I had a strange and disturbing dream that bordered on being a nightmare. I was at my Mother's house, where my sister (the one I don't get along with; I have two), had let Eddie out of his cage. I was attempting to get him back into his cage, but he had grown to human size, and he was wearing clothes. And I, Eddie and his cage were in the bathroom. At least the window wasn't open. Although if it had been, Eddie would not have fit through it in his new giant size. The only meaning I can draw from this particular dream, is that I am a very disturbed individual. 'Course, I knew that already. I blame it on the very disturbing world we live in.
Which brings me to wackos. My heart goes out to all those who were killed, injured, or with family and/or friends either killed or injured in the Boston Marathon bombing, and the subsequent aftermath. I don't how a bomber, suicide or otherwise, or a mass murderer of any kind is created. But I do know it takes hate, a seriously twisted mind or minds, and the mistaking of great evil for something good. The end result is a wacko of the worst, and most dangerous sort.
A wacko of the best sort, is one who views life in an "outside of the box" kinda way, and has an excellent sense of humor, although some people might consider his/her sense of humor somewhat irreverent, and even inappropriate upon occasion. But he/she, like all the best wackos, has a great reverence for life. All life. Yeah, I know a couple of those. Even some famous ones. Some people might even think I'm a bit of one myself. More recently, I was called a weirdo. I suppose I am, sorta'. But a very nice one. Honest.
Anyroad, it was about 70 degrees out there today, with plenty of sun. The trees are budding, flowers (at least some them) are blooming, birds are singing, and there's a bear sleeping under my bed. I don't know how he does that. I can barely get under there. Albert is mostly a nocturnal creature while he stays with me. He complains there are too many people around with guns. He is of the belief that humans shouldn't be allowed to have guns at all. I can understand his point of view.
So. Be well, be strong of heart, and take care of each other. If you see a wandering black bear in the moonlight some night, don't shoot him. He's a friend of mine. And if you see a very large cockatiel dressed in clothes, I can only assume you are some kind of a fruitcake.
Anyroad, while wrestling with what little sleep I could snatch from the jaws of insomnia last night, I had a strange and disturbing dream that bordered on being a nightmare. I was at my Mother's house, where my sister (the one I don't get along with; I have two), had let Eddie out of his cage. I was attempting to get him back into his cage, but he had grown to human size, and he was wearing clothes. And I, Eddie and his cage were in the bathroom. At least the window wasn't open. Although if it had been, Eddie would not have fit through it in his new giant size. The only meaning I can draw from this particular dream, is that I am a very disturbed individual. 'Course, I knew that already. I blame it on the very disturbing world we live in.
Which brings me to wackos. My heart goes out to all those who were killed, injured, or with family and/or friends either killed or injured in the Boston Marathon bombing, and the subsequent aftermath. I don't how a bomber, suicide or otherwise, or a mass murderer of any kind is created. But I do know it takes hate, a seriously twisted mind or minds, and the mistaking of great evil for something good. The end result is a wacko of the worst, and most dangerous sort.
A wacko of the best sort, is one who views life in an "outside of the box" kinda way, and has an excellent sense of humor, although some people might consider his/her sense of humor somewhat irreverent, and even inappropriate upon occasion. But he/she, like all the best wackos, has a great reverence for life. All life. Yeah, I know a couple of those. Even some famous ones. Some people might even think I'm a bit of one myself. More recently, I was called a weirdo. I suppose I am, sorta'. But a very nice one. Honest.
Anyroad, it was about 70 degrees out there today, with plenty of sun. The trees are budding, flowers (at least some them) are blooming, birds are singing, and there's a bear sleeping under my bed. I don't know how he does that. I can barely get under there. Albert is mostly a nocturnal creature while he stays with me. He complains there are too many people around with guns. He is of the belief that humans shouldn't be allowed to have guns at all. I can understand his point of view.
So. Be well, be strong of heart, and take care of each other. If you see a wandering black bear in the moonlight some night, don't shoot him. He's a friend of mine. And if you see a very large cockatiel dressed in clothes, I can only assume you are some kind of a fruitcake.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
My Fractured Reality, & What it has in common with the Multiverse...What??!
Ah, the blunders we make. Well, make that the blunders I make. I was talking to a friend on the phone, which is always Eddie's cue (Eddie's my cockatiel roommate) to climb my arm and get his 2 cents in. Eddie's idea of communicating via the phone is to yell as loudly as he can into the telephone, and consequently into my ear. He alternates these screams with a few different imitations of wild bird calls, including some I think he just makes up. So, while this is happening, someone knocks on the door, and as I open it to what appears to be a well dressed, too clean-cut, and far too good looking (think The Omen) young man, the tea pot I had on the stove (I put it on for tea, of course) begins to whistle. While I am rescuing the tea pot, still listening to my sister telling me her secrets (which I will spill to my Mother later; we are all blabbermouths in my family) with Eddie still doing his best to drown out our conversation altogether, this angelic young man (although the outward appearance is quite different, think of the rotten-to-the-core politician in Stephen King's novel, The Dead Zone) begins talking about his political campaign of which a major component (part) will be to protect our right to bear arms, and to make sure it is not restricted in any way by the evil government forces.
Now, if I hadn't been distracted at the time with the phone and Eddie's yelling, I might have been able to nip a catastrophe-about-to-happen in the bud. But, I was barely listening to the foolish young man who had stepped across my living room threshold. Albert, however, who had been sleeping under my bed in the bedroom (Albert is a sometimes roommate, who also happens to be a black bear; it's a long story), was paying attention to the stranger's discourse (conversation). Albert, who is quite intelligent, even for most humans, is very anti-Republican (technically, he's not very fond of humans in general), and very, very, VERY anti-guns, particularly if they are in the hands of humans. The look of surprise on the face of the would-be-Governor of Connecticut's face might have given the painting of The Scream a run for its money when Albert came out of the bedroom.
Well, you can imagine the result. I had to spend the next 24 hours cleaning up the mess in the living room (you really wouldn't believe some of the places I found blood-splatter). After which I had to package and remove the remains from the premises, and then dispose of them. Albert, of course, took no responsibility for the situation. He grunted something about it being all my fault for answering the door.
Anyroad. We just got back from a little vacation up north, where we felt it might be a good idea to lay-low for a bit.
And that, in a nutshell, is the story. But if asked, I will deny everything.
Be well. Don't answer your door if you can help it. And please, think carefully before taking in any bears looking for a place to ride out the winter (or any other time of year).
Now, if I hadn't been distracted at the time with the phone and Eddie's yelling, I might have been able to nip a catastrophe-about-to-happen in the bud. But, I was barely listening to the foolish young man who had stepped across my living room threshold. Albert, however, who had been sleeping under my bed in the bedroom (Albert is a sometimes roommate, who also happens to be a black bear; it's a long story), was paying attention to the stranger's discourse (conversation). Albert, who is quite intelligent, even for most humans, is very anti-Republican (technically, he's not very fond of humans in general), and very, very, VERY anti-guns, particularly if they are in the hands of humans. The look of surprise on the face of the would-be-Governor of Connecticut's face might have given the painting of The Scream a run for its money when Albert came out of the bedroom.
Well, you can imagine the result. I had to spend the next 24 hours cleaning up the mess in the living room (you really wouldn't believe some of the places I found blood-splatter). After which I had to package and remove the remains from the premises, and then dispose of them. Albert, of course, took no responsibility for the situation. He grunted something about it being all my fault for answering the door.
Anyroad. We just got back from a little vacation up north, where we felt it might be a good idea to lay-low for a bit.
And that, in a nutshell, is the story. But if asked, I will deny everything.
Be well. Don't answer your door if you can help it. And please, think carefully before taking in any bears looking for a place to ride out the winter (or any other time of year).
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