A Seinfeld Post

I don't know why it is, but every time I come to this site and begin a new entry, everything freezes up. Not the site -- my words. I wait for my son to fall asleep, make a cup of strawberry-cranberry-orange-green tea from the Shanghai Emporium, nestle into my little chair, and prepare to send my brilliant ideas out in to the universe. Then I stop.

Everything flies out of my head like George W. in a crisis, and I sit here, staring, wondering, thinking. I'm considering the possibility that my brain freeze is the direct result of knowing I am writing for myself, and not for entertainment ... perhaps my head is bigger than I think it is, and I do, for a change, mean that metaphorically.

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It's crispy cold outside today and my yard looks like something out of a creepy fairy tale. I live in a church, steeple and all, and the grass is all silver and crunchy around me. We have bunnies. Many, many bunnies. They don't look cold at all, little muffins. There is a thin fog around the perimeter of the property and I half expect a buff, boobsie blonde to come barrelling out of the horizon, only to be shredded by some freak with a steak knife a half inch from my front door.

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It excites me that Christmas is almost here, not because I love the holiday, but because I love the idea that for one whole day it won't be hard to find anybody. No fifty phone calls around, no work schedules to remember, no social functions to keep track of. Just a whole wack of people snuggled up in their houses, revelling in soft lights and the joy of softly spent jammies. That is the life. I'm doing something special this year, but to talk about it would be to violate an imperative principle of self-care. So yeah.

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Enough about me, let's talk about junkies. I drove past a guy laying on the sidewalk today and I thought he was hurt. I slowed down, pulled over, and went to get out ... then I saw his hands, the rig, his eyes. I suppose after 1.5 years in this town it's rather futile for me to become in any way perplexed by a person doing a big smash in the middle of the sidewalk at 2 p.m., but it still makes me wonder where people are going in life. All of them. The ones and the manies.

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Mayonnaise has got to be the sickest thing known to human kind.

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