Frustrations

In case I haven't mentioned it--which I'm sure I haven't, on account of I've been so successful with my Great Plan--I have this Great Plan in place. It goes a little something like this: think about anything, anything at all, rather than thinking about the Perfect Job Which I Might In Fact Get But Maybe Not. If I think about it, I vacillate so rapidly between the unfamiliar glow of hope and a dark cloud of deep despair (because if I don't get this job? I give up) that I become very dizzy and need to lie down and also consume large amounts of carbohydrates. Hence the Great Plan. What am I thinking about? Why, lots of things! All kinds of things! But not that whole thing I'm not thinking about that I can't mention because that would require thinking about it! Haha!

See how that works? It's genius.

In the meantime, I am pondering various frustrations of varying levels of pettiness. It keeps me occupied.

Baseball takes too long and is on too late at night. It's like passing a car accident; I want to stop looking, I know I should go to sleep. But I watch. And watch. And watch. And then I am sooooo sleepy. Me so tired.

All of my insurance-related paperwork gets mailed to my ex. He's the insurer, so all bills go to him. So when the dentist figured out that they undercharged me for my fillings this summer and then sent me a notice, I had to get it from him; so I got it late, and I paid it, but not before they sent him a second notice. Which meant I had to explain to him that yes, I really did pay them. And it's none of his business. Except it is. But it isn't. Crap. Can I please just have a couple of fillings in private? Please??

I may have to break up with ELIDEL MAN on account of he's pissing me off. First of all, I am now receiving chirpy happy "Eczemails" from the Elidel people with frightening regularity. Each and every one of those emails assures me that eczema is a very manageable problem, even moreso with non-steroidal ELIDEL! However, we've now had frost a whopping two times--i.e., it's not even winter yet--and not only is my creeping crud back with a vengeance, both children are afflicted as well. We are all slathering on the ELIDEL (as directed) and are still the poster family for scary skin.

I'm not at all sure about this Blog Explosion thing, yet. I mean, I'm digging the new blogs to browse. I hope some folks who come across my site decide to stick around for a while. But then I read things like the guy complaining that "half the blogs" Blog Explosion took him to were housewives talking about exactly the same things. And maybe I was missing the point, but his blog didn't strike me as so unique that he was in a position to cast such aspersions. Anybody can sign up for Blog Explosion. Just like anyone can get on the internet. Likewise, anyone can make sweeping generalizations that make them look like a dumbass. I'm just sayin'.

My eBay auctions are doing really well. Um, Mir, why are you complaining about that? Well, it's all fun and games until the auctions end and I have to see if the buyers actually bother paying me, you see. And right now, many of my leading bidders are newbies. I will not be counting these particular chickens until they're in the bank (makes for an interesting mixed metaphor, there).

I still have not raked the leaves but the next plague has arrived. Oh, lord help me. The pine needles. THE ENDLESS PINE NEEDLES. They're even worse than the leaves. I'm running out of time and yet I just cannot bring myself to tackle the yard. The very thought makes me panic. And time is running out, because the snow will be here before I know it. Hold me.

Blah blah blah blah I hate Microsoft blah blah blah. Remember how excited I was to order more memory for my failing desktop dinosaur? It's installed, but the computer doesn't seem to be running any better. Turns out that apparently Windows 98 can only utilize a certain amount of memory (which I already had). I tried to keep reading about why that is and what it all means but first I got very annoyed and then I just nodded off.

Eloquence cannot be purchased. Apparently, millions of dollars a year is not enough money to guarantee you won't say something like "This is a God-given gift that I have been gifted with" when you're interviewed on national television after the game. That player has a name, but he'll hereafter always be known as Gifty Smurf to me.

Thank goodness I lead such a full life that I have absolutely no time to think about that whole thing I'm not thinking about.