"Where have you been? What have you been doing, Pandora?"
I really don't know. I have no answer for you. I've been playing Spider Solitaire for nights on end now. I've gone from one suit to two. It's extremely difficult for me. I went from having something ridiculous like a 90% win with one suit to a 20% win with two suits. And a friend of mine just called and asked what I was doing and when I said Spider Solitaire he said, "What? What's with you and that game lately? You've been playing that for weeks?" I told him it was mind numbing and that I needed to numb my mind for a while, but I think I just made that up because my mind is far from numb when I play this stupid thing. I think I'm obsessing over it, actually. I sit here and play it until I'm angry at the damn game, and I listen to myself say things like, "The computer is toying with me! There's no possible way I can lose this much on something this stupid!" And I'm convinced that its "hints" are purposely misleading. I'm not kidding. I once played an entire game just following its stupid hints to see if it would lead me to a win, and it didn't! Why "hint" at something if it isn't really going to help me? I'm regularly victimized by this stupid game! It enjoys making me go "cold" in the "you're getting warmer" game! (Do you see the potential insanity that is going on with me here?)
I don't know what to tell you, aside from the fact that January is an obvious wash on the blogging front (and quite possibly the sanity front). The holidays threw me off pretty bad. I was bombarded with people, obligations to people, and expectations of holiday cheer. This past weekend was the first weekend I was free to lie around and do nothing in at least seven weeks. I don't know about you guys, but I need time to lie around and do nothing. I need down time or my brain goes a little crazy (I think the recent obsession with Spider Solitaire is a testament to that). And I have no clue what great conjunction is happening in the Universe right now, but 2010 flew in like a Chinese Bucket Brigade at the office and I've been running around putting out fires (some that aren't even mine) since January 4. And I won't even begin to talk about the never ending power point project that I've been working on for nearly a year (mostly because there was a shift in upper management and their idea for the project is completely different than the previous management's idea and so... I'm sure I could go on and on about that in some sort of amusing fashion but I have now reached the point where I loath the thing so much I feel like hiring one of those Chinese peasants to come over in a row boat and stab me with a spoon just so I can feel the sense of something new and original).
Okay, I'm being a little dramatic but... there's always truth in the overly dramatic. And besides, what's life without a dash of Histrionic Disorder in the world of disorders? I think it's good. We can just say that I'm putting a hypothesis of one of my postmodern professors to the test: through "embracing the stereotype of the overly dramatic and hysterical woman, I disarm its negative connotation and prove the label to be false." (whatever... I loved that professor, but I always thought that was one of his lamest moments in the classroom.) If Shakespeare were around today, perhaps he would say something like, "All the World is a disorder and all the men and women are placebos." I think I like that. We're all walking talking sugar pills in a world where prescriptions hold the solutions to everyone's problem.
I am, however, starting to think that everyone in this apartment complex is insane. I may be the only placebo in here because the rest of them are bonafide disorders. I've lived here for a year and a half now and I have yet to meet a well balanced human. When I first moved in I had to deal with the drunk man that loved to go out and sing and howl at the moon between the hours of two and four a.m. Right about the time he moved out, Windmill Dick moved in and you know those stories. Now he's gone and some crazy lady who loves to verbally abuse her dog moved in downstairs. (I really can't stand her. I hope she never has children. I'm sure I'll write about her in more detail one of these days.) Then there's the couple across the way that love to stand in the courtyard and throw things at each other in broad daylight while screaming obscenities just long enough for the police to show up. Then there's the lady that pulls in every night around two a.m. in a car that sounds like a broken time machine (someone needs to help her find a new flux capacitor or something because one of these nights she's just not going to make it back). And as I was lying in bed listening to my newest neighbor tell her dog to get out of her face because she just doesn't understand why he treats her this way, all I could think about was that I'm living in the asylum. I unknowingly checked myself into this nut house! It's like One Flew Over The Apartment Complex and they're starting to rub off on me! I really need to think of an escape. It could be worse though, I could be living in the complex down the way called El Diablo. I may be in the asylum complex, but at least I'm not paying rent for a two bedroom pad with bad plumbing in Hell.
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