I like books.


I live in a small town and enjoy writing about the inhabitants. I spend most of my time perusing through used book stores looking for that one great book that I don't have; consequently, I have rooms filled with books. I am a book addict.

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

I live to tell the tale

It was my grandson, he gave it to me. I tried not to kiss him but he told me that my good germs would kill his bad germs, sort of my small lesson on immunity back a few months ago when he was worried about getting sick, and he was so cute and so I kissed him and he felt better and I was sure I was immune, you know the flu shot. I guess the flu shot only covers the respiratory flu. Who knew? I thought I was going to die. It was Sunday night around 10:00 and I was feeling a little icky. Anyway, I say I’m going to bed and hubby says okay and he comes up to the office to read. I toss from one side to the other and think that my tummy is really hurting and I’m feeling a little dizzy like I drank too much cheap wine but there was no wine. After an hour or so of this feeling, I realize that I am going to hurl and run to the bathroom where I can’t decide if my urge to hurl is stronger than my urge to have the dreaded diarrhea and so I sit and I yell, “I’m sick.” And Mr. Zelda says, “I can tell.” Actually, I didn’t hear the response because I fainted and fell smack dab into the floor head first of which I have two big bumps and a huge abrasion. So he comes in and revives me and later tells me that I was turning blue. Later, like an hour later, I was back visiting the porcelain god and he was there to make sure I was okay, and I passed out again. It was a night of hell, I thought I was going to die and if I had felt one bit better, I’d gone to the ER, but I felt so badly, that I couldn’t be bothered. Today is the first day that I have eaten or drank anything and what I ate wasn’t much; however, I am now not so horizontal and am feeling a little better, weak but better. Is there a lesson to be learned, no, I had my flu shot and eat lots of good stuff and try not to breathe any germs.

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

who needs a heart when a heart can .....

So, my husband has been really, I mean really good to me. Okay, not like sexually or that, but for Christmas he bought me a new laptop, yep really nice one; also, he bought me a really nice bag for said lap top, and a really nice day planner and a really nice other thing that I don’t really know what to call it; he also got me a scanner, a new photo printer, and finally, drum roll please, a new IPod. Yep, it is, as Mr. Delagar so adequately says, a new penis, or in my case a penis. I have this really nice case and new earphones but no one can mistake what is in that case and I see people looking at it and shaking their head with approval, or maybe they have Parkinson’s disease, but my point is, I am not a name brand kind of girl, but let me tell you, having an IPod is like no other thing I can describe and having my favorite tunes keeping me moving, yep, I move when I hear music and I try to sing but that’s like fucked. Anyways, that’s how much my hubby is trying to buy my love or maybe he is just being nice. Or, maybe h e has given up on telling me No so that when I say I want, he gets to avoid me going to get it. I don’t know but I like. What’s love but a second hand emotion…yep jamming right now.

Poor Little Girl

I feel sorry for Brittany Spears. I mean really, all her life her mother has shuffled her from one lesson to the next, one audition to the next, and finally when she is nine she is contracted to play a kid but is really never a kid. Now she is losing her children, and the media bombards her yet report it’s her making a scene. How sad. I know she signs up for this when she chooses the spot light, but really, how can a little girl choose?

Meeting My Guppies

Mr. Zelda and I get to school and he keeps assuring me we have time to get upstairs, make my coffee, drink a little of that coffee, and get my shit together. Who knew one of the two only elevators in the building would be broken and I’m on the seventh floor. Finally, elevator gets there, I run get water, grind beans, make coffee, look for poem that I wanted to read, grab stuff, get a cup of coffee from the pot while it is still dripping, burn hand. OH FUCK.Get to the elevator at exactly 7:25, bounce up and down and say shit I’m late and oh shit and tell Mr. Zelda it’s all his fault because he insisted we didn’t need to leave the house at 6 but at 6:45. Elevator opens, I hit floor two and tell hubby he is going to ride down to 2 and then back up to four because I don’t have time to stop, but it does stop and he smiles and off he goes and a young girl in pointed shoes gets on and wearing lots of noisy jewelry and much makeup and smells like strong stuff and she says she is late and I say me too and we began going down the shaft, and how sexual does that sound, but anyway, hoping that it doesn’t stop on three and it does and I say shit, I’m late for the hundredth time and drop my pile of books and say fuck and finally we are on two and I am running down the hall and leaving pointy shoe girl in my dust and I get to class, walk in, and see my students and when I’m at the front, I say, I sometimes say bad words, I don’t mean to, but they just pop out so if you get offended easily, you might want to consider dropping my class and as an after thought, I say, I rarely say the F word and about that time pointy shoe girl walks in and says, really, only if she drops her books. There you have it, day one with my guppies

Tuesday, January 01, 2008

Too old to give a fuck

Happy New Year to all! By the way, Ms Zelda has now added another year to her many. Today is her birthday. She is 53. 53! It doesn't even feel like me writing it. I mean, really, who in the hell is at 53 years-old still going to school, still hanging out with people young enough to be her children and, in the most cases, being at least five or ten years older than those kids' parents.

So, I am old as dust, wrinkled as a prun, but the good news is, I am old enough to not give a fuck. Really, and I have to tell you that over the last three or four years it has felt great, that not giving a fuck. I don't worry if my pants make my butt look too big, or if I have a zit on my nose, or if my legs need shaving.

So, again, Happy New Year and for those women who do give a fuck, trust me, you'll feel so much better if you just release it and practice the art of not giving a fuck.