The memory of smoke

The memory of smoke

Sunday, January 30, 2011

When the teacher is lazy, the student just goes ahead.

So, my mother once complained about how I wiped crumbs from the kitchen table. "WHO taught you to do it that way?"

What I wish I'd said was, "Well, let's see, who was SUPPOSED to teach me? Oh, yeah, You were. Instead I made it up as best I could, and you bitch me out about it in a snide and backhanded snipe."

I cleaned my counters today.

MIddle of ick

Crappy air not worth breathing, but there is no other choice. Oh, what I wouldn't do to be nearer the coast. Right on the coast. Just a visit is nice, but nowhere near enough.

Why is it we came back here?

Where have all the poisons gone?

Damn well better be last day of cramps.

This is where the meanness goes. The bitterness, the complaints. I used to be able to tell someone, now I carp about her.

The cat loves my new, very soft, robe.

Saturday, January 29, 2011

Just about had a bellyfull.

My former friend objected to my very anonymous reference to her, that was actually more my reaction to her ending of our friendship, on my blog that had a readership average of about twenty. Touchy little twit.

Sometimes, a woman has just got to know her limitations.

Oh, go take a hike.

Have you ever wanted to tell someone to go screw themselves, but you have to deal with them, it wouldn't do any good, and wouldn't make any difference anyway?

Me neither. yeah.

Not drunk as a skunk, but perhaps loose as a moose.

Just blowing my own nose

Just thinking aloud. Nothing meaningful. Sort of thought of venting spleen, but not even up to that much energy. Used to have a blog for this, but former dearest friend had access to it. So I deleted it and needed a new place. Hope I remember it's here.

When I was small, my mother would blow my nose, and she always got the timing wrong.