The Greater Good

I am hesitating to write about this even though it’s been on my mind off and on since it happened. I find it disturbing and not a little ugly so I think I don’t really want to examine it too closely. As an example of the urge to destroy that which does not fit into your particular world few, it highlights my own lack of tolerance as much as anything and that, I suppose is what I find most disturbing. So, without further teasing…a man I work with came to my desk and asked me if he could take care of a problem for me. Not unusual for him though his tone this time was somewhat more urgent that I’m used to. This particular co-worker is somewhat….challenged, mentally but is certainly capable of conducting a more or less normal life. He does admin work for whoever needs it, basically, and he’s quite good at it. In fact, he makes my work life much easier overall as he does a lot of the tedious though necessary tasks associated with benefits administration. He is generally quite agreeable and, despite being irritating from time to time with the jokes he’s in the habit of telling (constantly), I have enjoyed him as a co-worker I don’t actually know very well. What I do know is that he is heavily involved with his church – going to Russia at least twice a year for missionary work and that sort of thing, his conversation often peppered with references to the Lord and such...you know – an extremely devout person that seems to be blessed/cursed the mentality common among young teenagers – the ones who assume everyone feels the same about things as they do, knows what they know and believes what they believe, that the world we live in is such a place where everyone knows what’s right, what’s wrong and what’s just stupid – that sort of thing. Anyone who deviates is obviously just…misinformed or deliberately going the wrong way and so, worthy of disdain, even pity. Mostly harmless and vaguely offensive in his unawareness of the differences around him, I’ve never really given his faith more than the notice to know it’s there and to avoid tripping over it. So, this co-worker comes to me and says he wants to take care of a problem for me. Not knowing what problem it is he thinks I have (and, as he’s given to jokes about these kinds of things), I smile as is my usual response and ask him what he believes I need help with. He replies that he’d like to take down some pictures J- left hanging at his desk. Now, first, his tone in asking coupled with the look on his face made me slightly uncomfortable but it was the look in his eyes when, with my permission, he went after the pictures that really disturbed me. They had that bright penny, fanatic gleam that looks closer to evil than anything else – at least to my mind. It was the evil that I’d expect to see in the eyes of a mob, or those of the inquisitors of The Inquisition, or those of the Nazi’s – that evil. An absolute surety that the action they’re about to take is not only needful, but justified for the safety and comfort of all…at least the ‘all’ that makes up ‘us.’ The way it strikes me is humanity reverting to an instinct so basic, so flawed, so…unavoidable, that we struggle still to get past it and, for the most part, fail utterly every time we’re tested. Survival means ‘us’ being ahead of ‘them’ at any cost, whatever that looks like. It’s a bullsh*t instinct but, there it is. As a species we seem unable, or maybe just unwilling, to get past it. The greater good for all in the long run is so much less appealing than the best good for ‘us’ right now...especially as we are equally incapable of determining what that greater good should actually mean. Anyway, my co-worker, with this gleam in his eye, begins to take these pictures down all the time muttering about the evil they represent, about how he’s so happy to be able to rid us of this evil influence, this sinister view. And, he’s not just taking them down, he’s twisting them into little balls, he’s ripping them into tiny pieces, he’s demolishing them as much as possible without actually reducing them to ash. The whole time he’s all but vibrating with the joy of his destruction, the righteousness of his actions. I don’t believe I’ve been so disturbed by anything in the recent and, really, much in the not so recent past. Watching him, I both feared and hated whatever it is that grants him his complete and utter lack of tolerance for anything that doesn’t fit into his extremely narrow world view. And that is where I run headlong into the same damn attitude in myself that so angers and frightens me in others. I believe what I believe because that’s the ‘right’ thing to believe in as far as I’m concerned and, while the idea that other people don’t necessarily share my beliefs is familiar and true in my experience, there is still a part of me that feels that they’re being deliberately blind because, given the same facts, shouldn’t they reach the same conclusions? Manifestly not and still, still I feel, ever so slightly, like a better person for coming to the ‘correct’ conclusion and a bit self-congratulatory about my willingness to let others hold their own, however ‘incorrect,’ opinions, without feeling the need to point out the errors in their conclusions, their obviously faulty reasoning. I can be the bigger person because I’m right and they’re wrong and, ultimately, that’s all that actually matters. So, I find it difficult to climb up on my high-horse (he keeps shying away from my hypocritical self) and judge this co-worker for his complete intolerance despite my abhorrence of his glee and my absolute disagreement with his judgment about these pictures and their supposedly evil subject matter. I don’t, and am not likely to ever, find that subject matter even remotely evil and I think he’s beyond wrong and heading into evil himself with his absolutist views. My horse will not let me climb up because, if it were in my power, I would force him to change his beliefs to suit my views without a moment’s hesitation and I’d do it with the conviction that I’d be doing him the favor.

We’re going down, we’re going down, we’re going down…

So, since Friday me and my desperate band at work are down to 2. I’m leaving. There’s no way around it, especially with all the bitching I’ve been doing to any and all who will listen! Its official! This pop-stand will be blown as soon as I find a new one with sufficient (but not over-abundant) insufficiencies to suit my need to bitch about my working conditions.

In preparation for my imminent failure to procure a better wage from my current employer, I have discovered that apparently, I updated my resume over 2 years ago to include my latest job. For some reason I was certain that it hadn’t been done…course, I suppose I could be excused for my forgetfulness – I mean, it was last updated, as I said, over 2 years ago. I find it somewhat disturbing that there’s nothing really to add to it despite those 2 years…there’s something kind of sad, to my mind, about 2 years of my life adding up to not a single change. Well, actually – I did have to update my address so I guess things haven’t been entirely as dull as it could/may seem. At any rate, it’s been polished up and is now ready to be sat at the front of the shelf with the rest of the shiny knick-knacks. We’ll see what it picks up for me, eh? J- has promised to forward it to a contact of his that he knows to be hiring…wouldn’t it be nice if I could avoid the whole round of interviews and rejections and just somehow magically find myself a new place making loads more than I do now without all the pain and suffering? It’s a dream I’ve yet to live but I still believe in the possibility…hope…it’s what keeps me going, right?

Speaking of J-, I find that I’m feeling the loss of my latest co-worker a bit more deeply than the situation really seems to merit. Course, I s’pose it could just be that I’m left with more work than can reasonably be done and less than the usual desire to do it but I think there’s more to it. I’ve really enjoyed his company and I will miss him for his own sake as much as for the work he did. Since I’ve been working in Denver, I’ve worked with all of two people that even have the first clue where I’m coming from half the time and it’s a bit wrenching to see the second of them go. Even understanding that this is the best thing for him, I can’t help feeling a bit resentful-I mean Christ! Would it kill them to stick around long enough for me to get tired of them?? Don’t they understand how hard it is to find co-workers that don’t bore one to tears??

Payday should be everyday

Payday and I’ve got no money. I wish this was an unusual circumstance but it’s all too familiar and this sort of constant familiarity has certainly bred contempt…for something….You’d think (okay, I’d think) after an entire lifetime (so far) of this that I might get used to it! I suppose I’m not the only one who dreams of having more than enough money to do whatever I please. I know money can’t buy happiness and all that blah but-how does it go-it sure can’t hurt. People tell me my road to financial freedom could be my writing…and I see what they mean and I’m not at all opposed (as an idea) even though the vast majority of writers never actually make a living at it…I’m thinking maybe winning the lottery might be the safer bet…Okay, I’m kidding…more or less.

Sort of, but not really, along this line, I had a conversation w/J- at work yesterday that made me think about some things. It’s not really all that important what he said so much as that it gave me the idea that there are people out there who choose to do what they love even with the stress that such inescapable instability brings. What I mean is – those of us who chose a less…traditional (though there is an argument for it actually being more traditional than what most people do for a living these days)…path, those who follow their artistic inclinations rather than their practical, are also making the choice to live with the inherent instability with which such professions tend to be fraught. However, in thinking this over, I realize that their path is no more or less unstable than that of their more practical brethren…it only appears so on the surface. Okay, I’m still not quite getting there – listen – we all make choices as to what we’re going to do to support ourselves as adults, right? Most of us choose the more practical paths – things like teaching, engineering, office worker, call center flunky, data entry, customer service – these sorts of things. We spend our lives doing jobs that serve no deeper purpose beyond the lining of our pockets (some more thickly than others…mine seem to be fraying a bit…or something) My argument is that, any time one chooses one these practical paths over a more creative (yes, I realize many of these professions require a great deal of creativity if only in how one manages to deal with all the crap that comes with it and remain sane but, for the sake of argument…) one, one is choosing not to go some other way. (Yes, this is kind of obvious but bear with me here.) In making that choice, many people are denying a different part of themselves – sometimes a significant part of who they are – and that, I would submit, would be the source of inherent instability in the practical-for-it’s-own-sake path because the choice itself hinges on the person’s willingness to continue denying portions of their own nature, of putting on at least the appearance of buying into the bullshit that goes with it. Maybe it’s just my experience but, keeping up with appearances begins to feel more and more like lying the more you do it and the less your heart is in it. Is the paycheck is worth the lie? When does it stop being so? At any time, it could become intolerable to continue playing the game…see? If everything hinges on what ultimately amounts to a whim – how secure could that ever be? So, the creative types who choose the more apparently tenuous paths are no more or less unstable than anyone else. Course, I suppose there are people who truly have no other desire than the practical…hard as that is for me to imagine…or, at least, they have no need for the creative to play a significant role in their every day lives…or maybe it’s just that I personally find it increasingly difficult to pretend to care about things that have no real meaning to me or, really, to anyone other than the man who makes the money for my effort. I’m sure the owner of my company finds great meaning in what all his busy little worker bees do because we go a long way toward making his life (as he chooses to live it) possible. It’s hardly his fault I find no greater comfort in the thought of my effort going to support his…enrichment. Ack! So I’ve come to the point of all this in as far as I’m concerned (and this is, as ever, about me) – I have found that the choices I’ve made in the service of practicality have left me feeling…unstable…and what’s worse, I’m trapped because my own practicality continues to tell me I need to keep to the office life at least for now (the damn bills, you know) and my urge to be lazy…keeps me there, even with all the best intentions to the contrary. Okay, when I started I had no idea where this was going but I see I’ve circled around to my usual place and now I’m feeling sorry for my lazy self again…

Past due

It occurs to me that I’ve never replied to any of the comments I’ve received on my b**g so…here I go…

I got the name for my b**g from a quote I've always liked from Rilke - talking about why humans exist - what our purpose is on this planet in this time. The full quote as I have it is:

“...We are the bees of the invisible...Our work is the continual conversion of the beloved visible and tangible world into the invisible vibrations and agitation of our own nature.”

Struck a cord when I first read it and it's stayed with me ever since

Thank you for all your good wishes and compliments – please don’t think I don’t appreciate them. I am always hesitant to say anything about myself…well, that’s not entirely true but I’m more likely to keep quiet than to participate so this b**g has been something of a stretching of the boundaries for me. Getting the feedback is…addictive…and enjoyable so – Thank you.

Afternoon in hell

Alright, so this horse is past dead and into bloody pulp but have I mentioned that life is hell at work these days?? I have spent this entire day auditing and re-auditing all for the pleasure of that phsychotic bitch at the other end of the office. I can feel a scream building in my throat and I'm having fantasies of just letting it out and screaming my head off...that or tearing down some of these damn cube walls with my bare hands (how hard could that be??). I alternate between tears at the amount of crap I've got to get accomplished and a determination to give it up and just quit - fuck the consequences! No lunch until about 5 minutes ago (3:30 this afternoon) and it's been served with a heavy dose of guilt for taking the time to heat it up. On the bright side...wait...there is no bright side...no light at the end of the tunnel...no idea where I'm going with this...wanna go home and go to sleep...that would be good..that would be lovely...

Early morning meandering

It’s 1:15 am and I can’t get, of all things, "Jesus Christ Superstar" out of my head. Where the hell did this come from?? I’ve got water in my ears from the shower, and I’m trying desperately to get some sleep and all I keep hearing, running round and round in my head is the main theme from a musical I haven’t heard in years! So I thought I’d get up and write something in the hope of chasing it out and, maybe I’ll be able to get some sleep before it’s too late to bother. I need sleep – work is still intolerable and bound to remain so for the foreseeable future…hmmm…foreseeable…is any of the future actually foreseeable? I wonder…if there is nothing to count on but this moment then I suppose nothing is truly foreseeable, eh? Okay, whatever-what I’d like to foresee is me, finding another job…even if it’s still benefits administration, at least I’d be going somewhere different each day…someplace w/o a crazy bitch in charge of everything, without a software conversion in progress that could (and seriously might) bring the company down rather than work the way it should. All because this crazy, control freak bitch insisted on doing it w/o testing, w/o running duel payrolls to make sure things transferred correctly...and why does it matter? I guess it doesn’t really. As if I needed a sign that it’s past time to move on – here it is, blinking in bright neon and screaming at me. “NOW” you stupid, lazy brat – get off your ass and find something else to trade your time and effort in on the comforts of food and home for…what more do I need? A notarized letter from the gods telling me it’s time to act? The main points are this: my team is down to two, we’re doing a software conversion of our main operating system without any sort of testing or planning (success is looking at best unlikely at this point), I don’t like or respect-even a little-the person in charge of this place (you wouldn’t either if you met her, trust me on this) and whatever else I can’t think of at the moment. Sigh…I don’t want to do this anymore…I think of open enrollment and I cringe, I think of doing one more set of COBRA notices and my eyes go all squinty, 401k, flexible spending accounts-blah, blah, blah. The worst of these is open enrollment and the thing is, no matter where I go, if I stay in benefits it’ll chase me down at least once every year – for those of you with no concept of the hell that is open enrollment – please, be kind to your benefits administrators in the future – just fill out your damn paperwork and return it on time with a minimum of bitching and try to remember that your stupidity and forgetfulness is hardly their fault. Okay so-yes, a change in scenery is definitely called for in the very near future. Damn! I’m wallowing in it tonight…give me sleep, sweet sleep uninterrupted by intrusive musical numbers and I’ll have the energy for more upbeat conversation tomorrow…

Apartment living, Challenges-met & concured and the Beauty of Words

I woke up this Sunday morning to the sound of my obnoxious neighbor and his shrewish daughter screaming at each other. Every third word being ‘fuck’ or ‘shit’ or some other curse - most of the time I figure it’s just another way to express yourself but, with these two I tend to agree with my mother in that it makes them sound like uneducated, unimaginative, very sad examples of people in tough situations. It does not inspire one to sympathy to discover at top volume and with dramatic vulgarity at 8:30am Sunday morning that your neighbor is on dialysis and virtually destitute, living on his disagreeable daughter’s charity. Maybe there is something lacking in me? Regrettably, this demonstration of family…affection…is offered on a fairly regular basis. There ought to be some sort of manual by which all people in apartment buildings agree to live. Top of the list would need to be something along the lines of – ‘One must do their best not to intrude on their hapless neighbors’ Sunday morning sleep-in with obnoxiously loud, foul language’…something like that. Whenever some one in the building chooses to complain about this, they get screamed at to shut their fucking windows and mind their own damn business. Believe me darling, we all wish we could.

On the up side, I got to spend an enjoyable afternoon with my brother. I had planned on, and was looking forward to spending the entire day by myself in my apartment and communicating as little as possible with anyone. I’m glad he called. We had one of our rare good conversations which always leave me in a happy mood and remind me why it’s a good thing to spend time with one’s brother. He is among the few people in my life with both the perspective and the will to kick me in the ass when needed and not piss me off while he’s at it. Thank god for small mercies, eh?

As an update, my computer monitor is indeed caput (thank the not-so-little-anymore brat cat that is nevertheless completely irresistible to me despite whole the chewing issue-he has cost me a very expensive flat screen LCD monitor). Considerable expense aside, his destruction of my computer accessories led me to hook the machine up to my television and I am more than a little pleased with the result. I’m not sure why I’ve never thought about doing this before but it’s a perfect solution to a problem I wasn’t even aware that I had. It combines 2 separate media stations into one (saving sorely needed space) and, because of the tv stand arrangement in combination with a wireless keyboard and mouse, it puts all tasty cords out of reach to the teething kitten. It never ceases to amaze me how little imagination I have until pushed into it by forces outside my control but, I suppose that’s just part of the deal. If we didn’t surprise ourselves every once and awhile we might just as well shrivel up and die.

This feels like a good place to end the post but I’ve been sitting here messing with it for the past 10 minutes rather than saving and moving on so I suppose there must be something else I want to add? Maybe it’s just that I can’t get over how much I enjoy sitting in my most comfortable chair, typing on my wireless keyboard, staring at my television as my words appear and accrue…there’s nothing quite so satisfying to me as a page full of words I’ve just written and am generally pleased with. I used to sit at school and just blur my eyes and look at pages full of my own writing…the same feeling I get when I look at my shelves full of books would come over me and all would seem right with my world for those few moments…all the petty, stupid things outside my books and my words go away and something tight in me relaxes for a little. I can’t say why I find written words so much of a comfort, but I do and I always have. I remember, having learned my alphabet but not to read yet, a game I’m sure my mother hated where I would shout out whatever letters came to mind and ask what that spelled. Even then I think I was beginning to understand what fascination words-concrete, permanent words would hold if one could only read them, use them…Words can’t be taken back once they’ve been written down, you can’t argue what was or wasn’t said when they’re there to refer back to. They can’t be taken away or made less than they are…and they exist with or without anyone’s notice of them…

Finding the past not so different from the present...

Here is a journal entry I found while going through my computer this weekend and, as it all still applies, I thought I’d go ahead and post it. It was written 3 February this year:

One of my brother’s listed wishes on his blog is for me to write more and to let more people read what I’ve written…this is my wish too – both prongs of it, in fact. There is a part of me that doesn’t want me to have what I think I know I want. If I want to be a writer, why don’t I write? Laurell K Hamilton mentioned in her blog that there are an amazing # of aspiring writers out there who don’t write. What, I wonder, is the problem? God! If I knew that I suppose I might be past this point by now! The life I imagine shows no other career, no other ambition except that I make my living as a writer…a writer sometimes w/a bar, sometimes w/a book shop but always a writer…the more ‘realistic’ dream, as some might have it, is the bar or the shop…I suppose it’s true to say more people make money selling booze or books than people who attempt to peddle the thoughts from their own minds…doesn’t seem fair but it makes a kind of weird sense. How many hundreds of thousands of writers are there out there? One needs look no further than the internet to find entire communities of writers who only write for their own amusement…no, that’s not fair-I believe many of these people write because they have a need to express something, a need to connect, however loosely with other people who may or may not understand – the point is to communicate, to feel as though they’ve made a mark of some kind. Few, if any, are great writers but some are good and many are passable if not particularly original or interesting. I think part of my fear stems from the thought that I might actually fall into that last category. While I like what I write (what little there is), I have this absolute need for the approbation of others…not just any others but others whose opinions’ matter to me. With that need, comes the fear that I won’t get it, won’t merit it and, ultimately, it seems easier not to try than to try and not get what I believe I need. How silly is that? What harm is there is writing if no one gets to see it? What harm is there in sharing what I’ve written and taking the chance? It’s hardly as if I would offer up a piece of writing that I didn’t feel was any good...which may be the point, come to think of it...

I guess that leaves me with laziness and fear once again…my ever-present excuses for so much. I’m still an overweight, single, office worker with smoke dreams of a life less ordinary…I dream of a future in which I’ve somehow reached the other side of this wall I’ve been crouching behind for so long I’ve gathered dirt and sprouted roots. My writing, what I’ve done in the past 12 months is dark with my own self-exasperation…my certainty that I cannot overcome my own will to fail is my very own self-fulfilling prophecy. I cannot truly fail if I never really try and that’s a safe, if everlastingly disappointing place to be. I’ve been saying this for so long it no long means anything but it’s well past time to start living my life today. All this leads up to…nothing. Plans for doing something different fall through the rotted boards of my resolve…self castigation ensues and the cycle starts again…one would think this fabric would be worn to threads by now!

You know, it occurs to me here that, in anyone else, I would be unbelievably frustrated to see such constant focus on what the past has been. I say, quite often in fact (so often one thinks of the ‘lady protesting too much’) that there is no sense in regretting the past – it cannot be changed. The only useful things to carry forward are whatever lessons you may have learned. Maybe it’s necessary to sincerely regret in order to get past the pain to the lesson? I don’t know but I’m willing to concede that on everything. I gave my virginity away on a drunken whim to a man I barely remember – I’m not sure I can even recall his name. One might think I’d have some emotional sort of regret for this but, I really don’t…or, if I do, I don’t feel it. All I feel when I think about it is an embarrassed sort of discomfort with the very idea of it. The first male to touch me and make me respond was James and I chased him off as quickly as I decently could. I have never been comfortable with the combination of emotional closeness and sexual partners…I don’t know why I just know there is nothing more likely to send me screaming in the other direction than some one I actually care for wanting me too…Larry made me feel things just by being near me and, when he touched me, damn, even remembering it now, makes me smile and frown. The smile for the feeling, the frown for the regret that niggles there for the lost opportunity, for the way everything just sort of washed out, for the lies I tell now to make it sound like more than it was, to create memories I’m more comfortable with. I wonder what he thought about it all? I wonder whether I really want to know?

I wish, I so wish, I would find what I need…and maybe I already have – if I were willing to honestly relinquish my illusion of control, I could take comfort in the idea that where I am is where I need to be and what I have, is what I need for now…but I find it difficult to accept and, maybe that’s why I’m still here. What lessons have I missed in all this…mundanity?...in this 80% pointless life? My job’s only point is to provide me w/the funds to live this life I’m so intent on avoiding. Ah, poor me, I make decent money, live relatively comfortably w/clothes to wear and food to eat, family and friends to turn to, animals to care for and ideas to work with. What I want, is to turn my will toward my goals, to remember always that every step I take puts me on a path to somewhere and that it is always my choice whether to take a step w/intention or to take one w/o thought past the moment. I’m feeling weepy w/the anniversary of my father’s death having just past – one of Rob’s wishes to be able to speak w/him again if only once more…I want the security of knowing he’s there, the peace in having some one who would always catch me if I’d only ask…my father had his problems and he definitely helped give me some of mine, I suppose that ought to go w/o saying but well, it didn’t, but he never let me down when I asked for his help. He wasn’t a bad person and I believe he did the best he could and I know he loved me and I certainly loved him and I miss him. I remember the feeling when he died of knowing, absolutely knowing, that life is far too short to continue doing things I dislike, saying things I don’t believe and dreaming of days to come. The only time we have is now, I believe that but somehow, I don’t live that. I could die in the next moment and what would I have to show for my life? Not a whole hell of a lot, that’s for certain. I want what everyone wants – I want to be happy, feel fulfilled, loved, appreciated…maybe it would be better to strive to offer these things to other people?

I feel so out of place most of the time, so like I just don’t belong where I am…I feel separated from people and, while I realize that is partly my own choice, I can’t help feeling like there must be some one somewhere with whom I might feel at home. My brother and the family night crew come closer than anything I’ve found elsewhere…it feels right to be with them but I do not stand out in that group any more than any other, I don’t offer much and not much is asked of me and that’s comfortable and comforting in it’s way. If I could write stories that could illustrate my experience for other people in an interesting way, I think I might be pleased by that. I wonder whether everyone feels this disconnected from everyone else and, I have to say it doesn’t look like it to me…maybe I need to make some serious resolutions – I need to say it, write it down, live it in every choice I make all the time…it’s a matter of choosing to make a difference in my own life, my own mind, my own reality.

Kittens and Work are nowhere near as much fun as their stickers claim...who do I lodge complaints with??

I feel as though its possible I’m being punished for my unkindness in the last post. The co-worker I was bitching about is no longer w/us…well, she’s w/the Us that is the human race (at least I believe so though I’ve had no proof…) but she’s no longer w/the Us that is the company I work for. A blessing, yes, but then our plucky band was down to 3 (not counting our fearless leader). Manageable client loads on a temporary basis and then, then the powers that be decided it was time for a software upgrade and, while we’re at it, lets be sure to convert to an online enrollment system for our medical enrollments which requires an all-out audit/correction of both our and the insurance company’s files and…coincidentally enough, they must both be done now and not later and each will take all our time and focus for the next week or so...on their own…but there are 2 and which would I rather do?? Neither but, as a lowly peon, no one cares what I want. Bad enough – all the regular stuff is going undone and piling up in the meantime but, this morning….well, this morning, my favorite, most dependable co-worker tells me he’s put in his notice and now, now there are 2 (not counting our fearless leader) in our quite diminished band. This is not a manageable case load...not even temporarily, not even if I wanted too. That and the worst cramps I have ever endured have added up to a most displeasing week. On the bright side, there was free popcorn…

So, that’s my work situation…finding another method of paying the bills becomes more and more appealing as I think about it…and live this. Did I mention my review is 5 months overdue and no end in sight what with all the software conversions and such? Sigh…I hate this place sometimes…others I find it comforting if only for its familiarity…and the money…such as it is…bleh…

And that’s all I seem to have to say. Have a lovely weekend everyone…I think I may just hibernate…

Oh, did I mention my adorable, not so little anymore kitten has a chewing issue? No? Well, I went to install the wireless keyboard and mouse I aquired (see kitten chewing problem...) and discovered, not only did I need an opperational keyboard and mouse (neither of which I have-see kitten chewing problem-well, it's no problem to him... it's more like a hobby really) to actualize this dream of a wireless desktop, but that my monitor seems to have been compromised by the little brat as well. So, he chews on the wire that is permanently attached to the monitor...my lovely monitor...that no longer works and will take more time and effort and money than I feel able to throw at to fix...I could...drench the little shit for this...not that he'd care but I feel some retaliation would only be fair...cuteness only goes so far, you know?