Wednesday, April 22, 2009


Madness surely comes through using more than 10% of your brain.  I don't say this in anything resembling arrogance since I believe the use of over 10% of ones brain is not a gift, but merely the result of having too much information crammed into it largely against one's will.  And the fascinating and horrific result is not Steven Hawking-like abilities, but rather in long, animated conversations (in public) with imaginary audiences about taxes, gardening, or why one would never remarry should one's long-suffering husband finally wise up.  "No really, Imaginary Audience.  I realize it would be a total waste of excellent woman, but should I be so unfortunate as to lose the one man I can tolerate, I would prefer a life of solitude and intellectual pursuit with occasional bouts of copious alcoholic consumption."

Other side effects include facial tics, hand gestures and twitches of all kinds, and a really base, immature impulse to snicker when an instructor says "rectilinear."

I have one term left of school. One. That's it.  And I have senior-itis in the worst possible way.  I don't want to do any work anymore for any class.  I want to work on real stuff, but stupid class stuff keeps getting in the way.

And we're trying to buy a house.  We found one we really liked, but then panicked because we wouldn't have gotten it for anything less then our absolute limit.  Then we panicked about panicking because it was in a really good area with really good schools and was the lowest priced house in the subdivision.  But in a silver lining kind of way, we found out there was a 14 foot easement past the patio in the back yard.  Yeah.  No.  Sorry.  I don't much get along with government these days, and this includes local ones too.  

And of course this all converged with PMS, a trip back to Houston for a crawfish boil, and a house that could really use a nice wife to take care of it.

Oh and my mom and stepdad are not getting divorced again.

1 comment:

Tricia said...

My that's a lot going on! Finding the right house is stressful. I know the next time I want to move will be in a body bag.