My therapist would say that I should stop feeling guilty and worthless for neglecting to read, comment, write, and think complete thoughts for the last month while I struggle with mild end-of-winter depression. She would say that I should talk to myself “as though I were my best friend”.
Problem is, I think what my best friend would say is “Get your froggie-pajamaed arse off the couch and write.” To which I would reply, “I have a LAPTOP, Sucker! And my flannel froggie pajamas are HOT.”
I am flu-ridden and unable to sustain even my usual level of coherent thought. Please lower your expectations accordingly.
It’s a good day for the Apocalypse. There are small stories. Like the Quebec woman who was trapped in the snow on a logging road for three days because her GPS steered her wrong. Apparently, most GPS owners are unable to check the “paved roads only” option in the settings.
Or the British Columbia hospital that is solving its space problems by treating overflow patients in a Tim Horton’s donut shop. (To which I am inclined to respond, “But it’s still free, so suck it up and be grateful. Like I did.”)
Or the Ottawa students who are whining because they have to pay the university back after cheating the laundry billing machines and washing their undies for free. When I was a student, laundry machines still used horizontal coin slots, so you could just put a piece of tape across the quarters. Now it’s all computerized and they can track the fraudulent launderers and bill them. Once again, technology fails to make our lives better.
There’s the release of the iPad 2, which will bring a hailstorm of criticism down upon me from my non-mac friends who frantically disapprove of my numerous iPurchases. Even though I just got the iPad 1 for Christmas and wouldn’t dream of upgrading it. And for the record, I also buy a lot of iron-free shirts from Eddie Bauer, but no one is reducing me to a “fangirl” for an online clothing retailer.
There is a market for ice-cream made from breast milk. The earth may be under attack from aliens in ships shaped like chewy mints. A scientist has devoted valuable brain matter calculating the resale value of our planet ($5 quadrillion). Vital questions about humanity go unstudied while research grants are used to discover that people who postpone emptying their bladders are better able to delay other forms of gratification. Back in a sec. I have to pee.
Then there are bigger stories, like Baby Joseph, whose right to be spared invasive medical procedures when all experts agree that he should only be receiving palliative care will be attacked by Sara Palin’s favourite lawyer. Because grief-stricken parents and an uber conservative lawyer from the American Center for Law and Justice (which defends Americans from cuss words at the Oscars, handgun bans, and public parks not displaying the 10 commandments) are clearly better placed to make decisions about Joseph than the two teams of medical experts at American and Canadian hosptials.
And Saskatchewan judge Robert Dewar, who allowed a convicted rapist to avoid jail time because the survivor of his attack was wearing a tube top, indicating that “sex was in the air”. The rapist is eligible for a 2-year conditional sentence to be served in the community. He doesn’t get that saying no, pushing him away three times, and crying means that a woman does not want to have sex with him, even when he admits to telling her “it would only hurt for a little while”. But he is not a threat to the public. Well, not unless the public wears a tube top.
All things considered, I think I’ll just go ahead and award two points to the Apocalypse.
The Apocalypse: 26