Serious? Me?

I wonder if all "adult" bloggers go thru a phase wherein they wonder about their existence; moan about their lost skills as writers (as proof that they would have as large a following as Plain Jane or even Dooce *rolls eyes*, if only they were still stellar writers); post trippy little self-emo-izing monologues, memes, and infantile quizzes; and indulge in a plethora of other sophomoric antics guaranteed to drive away all but anyone related to the writer. In my case, I think I've done even that.

Maybe my life just isn't amusing, or perhaps I haven't the skills to turn the mundane into the laughable...but I don't really care. I seem to be the only one who reads my blog, so I'll write for me. Hmmm...now where have I heard that before? Some author wrote somewhere, if you want to write, find the novel you'd like to read and write it...I'm sure I murdered that, but you get the idea.

Today was probably the nail-in-the-coffin for work. My bosses have been for the past 10 ½ years, full bird Air Force colonels, who while they tout family and all that jazz, really have no fucking idea what it’s like to be the one who has to stay home with the kids, while dealing with her own health issues, and possibly a job, too. Late is a four-letter word, at least if you’re a civilian. Everyone else on staff can be late, because of course they get shot at (not that I can think of any one except my current boss out of all the officers and NCOs I’ve worked with over the years who has been close to being shot at (he was in Baghdad for a while)—excepting of course, one who left us to go get shot at, sort of…) and none of the attendance/punctuality rules apply to them. But, my son had a bad sore throat and Mr. Crazy* stayed home with him yesterday, so I stayed today and took him to the doctor. Non-specific (i.e. non-strep) infection, throw antibiotics at it for good measure, with the standard, if-this-is-a-virus-antibiotics-won’t-do-any-good, lecture. Yeah, doc…you’re the one who mentioned the ABs, not I…and if I didn’t understand that WELL before I became your patient? I’d sure as hell know it by now. Muah!

I have a burning question about the houses of neatniks, those born-organized types who never have anything out of place, only have 10 books and gods-forbid any dust on any surface. Where did they hide it all? Or are their lives really that boring? They have no hobbies, they work, come home, feed the kids, wash the kids, put the kids to bed and then spend the time twixt kids and their own bedtime cleaning. As much as I’d like to believe there’s no one out there like this…I know they exist. I’ve seen evidence of them. Or, they keep their one little crafty project in a drawer, or have their sewing room fold up into a spare closet. Pathetic, just pathetic. Where’s the gusto, the cursing as you stub your toe on the foot of the ironing board, positioned just so, next to the patio door, as you let the dog out at 0300? Where is the adventure, the sense of panic when you know someone is coming over?? Safe lives are boring lives, people, get some clutter in your life!! I can help, I can send prepackaged clutter, bottled bookshelf dust, or even a bag of the finest mixed dog and cat fur available! Well, maybe not the clutter…I mean, that would involve sorting it and actually *shudder* getting rid of some of it. Heaven forfend!!

*I’ve played around with all sorts of pseudonyms for my husband here. I hate the ubiquitous DH. Not only can it be misconstrued as Damn Husband, Dumb Husband, Dame Hater, Deer Hugger, and any number of other things that might just flit by, I figure…what if he’s not a Dear? What if he’s a dear only 3% of the time and the rest of the time he’s a Dumb Head? I thought about using his real name, but it’s unusual enough that a simple Google might turn it up. I thought about using Mr and the initials of this blog and it came up Mr CCLITM….ermmmmm…no. So, since he’s married to ME, and that’s proof of his insanity, he’s just Mr Crazy.