Boy is it Hard not to be Grouchy

baloney

So, we made it through the month, I have followed advice on Facebook and marched around my two room apartment like a F—ing Champion. I have kept some sour dough starter alive for two weeks, I have no idea what to do with it but it is alive and I have already made arrangements for it should I die…

There’s talk that enough is enough. Freedom and blah blah blah, lets get back to “normal”. Normal like baloney and American cheese!

Right so, Should I die? YOU TELL ME.

I am past my “best before date” and except for making a bunch of masks (by the way I have run out of t-shirts to re-purpose for ties) I am pretty useless… I am not THAT OLD, but I have had cancer twice, I have asthma after having bronchitis last winter and now use a puffer and I have a blood disorder that they haven’t figured out yet, so I am a pretty good candidate for not surviving if I get this Covid19.

Maybe you don’t like clowns?

Call me the Grouch

Tattoo: “Born Looser”, typical, sheesh

I once saw a cartoon with a very chest fallen man getting a tattoo. You can see that it is just being finished and there is the common mistake, “looser” instead of “loser” and the tattoo artist is saying, “Oh, geez, sorry man!” and the sad is saying, “Naw, doesn’t matter…”

I used to write long and what I considered heart-felt and thoughtful letters by hand to a friend who moved far away. When I finally got a letter back he said, “it is really annoying how you always write ‘really’ with only one ‘l'”.  In my defense, it was before personal computers and GOOGLE.

So now I have no excuse.

I just re-read my last blog post.

I apologize to everyone who’s eyes bleed when they see such glaring mistakes!

I had a birthday.

Fifty years ago I was given a simple math question, along with the kids in my class, to figure out how old I would be in the year 2000. I was eleven and I had the thought: I’m going to die in fifty years.

Well last year was the year my eleven year old self thought she would die and when I had bronchitis and almost choked on a cough drop alone in my apartment and then most recently had a spontaneous hematoma, I thought, “This IS IT.”

And it wasn’t.

So, considering I still don’t really know what being alive is all about and therefore can’t really know what being dead is about either I will just continue on as I have done.

nanabday

But I will eat more chocolate and maybe enjoy a glass of beer more often.

Being Wrong

I got in an argument when I was a kid about whether a certain plant was poison ivy. I was certain it was a Trillium that was not yet flowering.  “So rub your face in it!” was her response.  I did. I was wrong. Boy was I wrong.

We all hate finding out we are wrong.  We might enjoy the humiliation of someone else, especially a blow hard being proven wrong or laugh at the slap-stick that a wrong premise can lead a character to repeat over and over. We recognize it because we have all known that often uncomfortable realization.

The thing about being wrong, as Kathryn Schulz author of “Being Wrong: Adventures in the Margin of Error” points out, it feels just like being right. Until we find out we are wrong we can feel pretty good.

Then, after we realize we are wrong we might continue to act as if we are right because we think we have too much to lose by making such an admission.

On the other hand we can believe that they are so wrong we have to bring them to justice, or to the court of public opinion, or just remind them, frequently. We can even feel pleasure from this punishing of others for their stumbles. It is unfortunate because we will be wrong again too.

Being wrong is part of being human. How a character in a fiction deals with the realization and all its ramifications can drive a story but in real life, it is an opportunity for us to learn and grow as a human being, and in real life we get lots of opportunities. Lucky thing because learning to be an adult human being is what your all too human life is about. It really is.

 

What Missing Towel Day Means to Me

I am not much into big holidays. They come, I notice and then they go. Sometimes they involve seeing people in a group and wishing I could just go for a nice walk with them one at a time and hear what is happening in thier lives. But Towel Day is important to me and I don’t care who else has an opinion negative or positive about it, I LOVE IT.

At 6pm (Irish Time, omg don’t you LOVE that) I missed a live stream of a reading from The Hitchhikers Guide to the Universe.

I missed going to the grocery store and carrying a towel with me. Instead I got in a really bad mood about my electricity bill, I completely defiled the meaning of Towel Day which is:

Don’t Panic!

Here is a wonderful music video called: Towel Day

MY PUBLIC APOLOGY TO PENNY CAT

She was just sitting there, thinking. We had a disagreement. Rather, she felt she needed to correct me which involved claws and a very tiny bit of blood. I was standing at my computer while she was on my bed which is actually very high up, shoulder-height, so she was at my shoulder. She kept tapping me and I was ignoring her.

I WAS IGNORING HER.

Anyway, I screamed and waved a piece of paper at her and she took off and has spent the last day refusing to eat (in front of me when I put it down for her) and leaving the room when I enter it. I don’t have a lot of people I interact with on a daily basis. I would like to patch things up with her but I don’t want to let her walk all over me.

Wait! She’s on the bed pretending to nap! Perhaps a public apology is what she was waiting for. Okay!

PENNY CAT, I AM SORRY I OVERREACTED TO YOUR APPROPRIATE CORRECTION OF MY BEHAVIOUR. PLEASE ACCEPT MY APOLOGY.pennytoy