The Sopranos and Carpe Diem

Once again Jack is out of town and I’m working my rear off because any and all jobs have converged into a two-week deadline after a summer of zero income. Meanwhile, we’re trying to put David through college. When Aunt Jennifer generously gave him a check to help cover expenses he thanked her profusely and said, “I only wish I was in a position to refuse this.” Don’t I know it!

I’m supposed to be focusing entirely on a book deal, but I can’t sacrifice my client base, and I’m waiting for pay-on-publication checks—as if!! The media’s political coverage has slowly turned my brain into an angry mush, if that’s possible. Well hell yes it’s possible! My brain IS an angry mush. It’s like a slushy soup in which the ingredients of apathy are mixed with equal parts of antipathy.

David is talking to me about his tests in required classes that have nothing to do with real life. I know it, but I must downplay that reality. Education could be fun if your life didn’t depend on it. Then again, you discover that even though your life might depend on it, it doesn’t do you that much good except for deleting one more demerit against you when competing against Susie or Charles with connections. So call me bitter!

Knowing that every day is precious doesn’t help when you can’t do anything about it. Yeah, I’d much rather be frolicking on a beach somewhere but seizing the day is a bit difficult when you’re transcribing interviews 24-7. Then friends Jill and Ray who took me out to eat Mexican tonight (hey even recluses need to get out once in a while) informed me that somewhere in Switzerland experiments are going on to prove the Big Bang Theory. Why?! The experiments involve some types of energies which are above your understanding, dear imagined readers—meaning that I have no idea either, but scientists are saying that such tinkering may create a black hole that swallows the earth, in which case, I have really been wasting my time this summer even more than I had previously presumed! Balls!

With my whole world collapsing in a continual downward spiral, including the fact that now there aren’t even any bugs to save from drowning in our pool—one of my prided community outreach endeavors—I’ve become captured by morning reruns of “The Sopranos.” In fact, the few minutes of indulgence while drinking my morning coffee persuaded me to rent the series again, and I’m beginning to think the so-called mob should replace the U. S. government. At least they get things done! (Just kidding, Big Brother '0 Mine.) [To all others: No I’m not kidding.] There’s some good philosophy going on in that fictional scenario. I love it when Tony Soprano (mob boss), alluding to the beliefs of one of his Hassidic “customers” asks his psychiatrist, “If this life shit is all about nothing, then when why do I have to keep thinking about it all the time?”

Well said Tony. Well said.

That Little Yellow Pill

My nephew turned thirteen this month and we recreated his yearly birthday that we have had here for at least seven years. My rescue dog, Bear, escaped several times during the fiasco. He has no street savvy and seems to think that our retrieval efforts are a big game, running and smiling as we approach, then jumping right into the Jeep when we finally find him, stop, and open the door. Still, it's a bit hurtful. Don't you like us you big jerk?! As London, his best little companion cries for his return, it's difficult to not harbor resentment and lick wounds until I realize when he gets back he thought the whole thing was a romp and doesn't realize the danger he's in due to his lack of life experience.

Due to several different factors, I told Jack that this summer sucked and then it was over. That ticks me off, because I know how important time is. I've been deaf for the past few weeks due to "barotrauma" or airplane ear and today I watched a few episodes of "That 70s Show" during which the mother said, while posing her kid and his friends for a high school graduation photo, "Now smile for your mothers who spent the past 18 years of their lives living for you. And while you're smiling, think of what we're supposed to do now!!" As she runs out of the room, her son, says, "You're supposed to take that little yellow pill."

The other day at a department store, the lady asked me if I qualified for the senior discount. "What?" I asked, followed by asking what the age cut-off was. I didn't qualify yet which was doubly depressing, but I added, "I couldn't hear you because I just got off a plane and have barotrauma, not because I'm old." DAMNIT.

I wish I had a few of those little yellow pills.