It's Raining Balls

I've dropped so many balls that they are just bouncing around like, um, what, I don't know, electrons maybe. Something bouncy that there are so many of you can't even count. I can't do anything. What is this about? Maybe it's about I hate November. I hate it because it includes events for which no balls can be dropped, like one's daughter's birthday. So, it's really more of the same, the unfulfilled commitment problem. It is stupid to write about how useless you feel in a blog. It's so blog. It's so what makes the whole genre so pitiful. Blogs are stupid. I don't even want anyone to walk into the room and read over my shoulder, let alone a member of the public at large.

Loser at large. Who the hell thought it was okay to leave me unsupervised with a life? I can't do this! It's way too hard for me. All these other people to deal with. Not to mention all the fuckin' stuff. And the damned Earth too. I'm not making good use of this life, even tho it's a darned good one. I can't even write about what a loser I am. It makes me feel too maudlin. I'd sit here sobbing. What the hell would be the point of that?

When Larissa was like three, we went rollerskating at a rink. They played that old song, "It's Raining Men." When Larissa heard that, she tipped her head up, opened her mouth, and stuck out her tongue. To catch some, of course.

I'd like to opt out of all the projects I'm part of...the school store, the winter faire, I guess that's all. The store, called the Acorn Basket, would die. We don't have anyone championing it. Maybe somebody out there would like to take it on, but not while that wierd Ellie is associated with it. The winter festival, not faire, oops, is a big project. What's worse? To be there to help my friends and not do a good job? Or just to abandon them outright?

Then the family stuff. Where will we stay so that we can go away the week of Thanksgiving? Means talking to my cousin. Which would mean talking to my dad, if cousin says yes. Lana's birthday, which is party, school party, then the day of. Chris's birthday. Christine's wedding. Plus, just interacting with these people on a day-to-day basis. It's hard.

Then the house stuff. This room, the office, is stultifying. So messy with crap. No benefit is derived from this space. I blame myself. The grownups room, charmless. The girls room, oppressive. Can't even walk. The living room, ick. The family room/kitchen is pretty good, but I haven't kept up with the routine tidying and cleaning. Laundry room. At least I did get the garage cleaned out.

The yard.

Writing.

Failure.