The perfect name for..

Pootling along the freeway, trying to reassure the car that yes I will get her an oil change and a service soon, pat pat, and I know I’m 15000 miles overdue, I’m sorry, and I know she’s feeling a bit tired and achy, and I’m very sorry , but this week, this week – I promise. Psychic hug, stroke the dashboard.

Mercifully I get distracted by a big lorry in the distance, its name printed across the back doors, red and blue letters on shiny, shiny polished aluminium siding: Deep And.

Deep and what? Deep and lovely?  Deep and squalid?  Deep and dangerous? Deep and dragons?  Deep and Darth Vader, a love story?

We start going up a hill. I give the car’s steering a wheel a scratch behind the indicators and urge her to go just that little bit faster.  She is a curious and bold little thing and gamely accelerates so we can catch up to the lorry.

The full name is Deep And Express.

Martha and I (yes the car is named Martha, and yes it is because of Martha Stewart, and no I do not have a Martha Stewart obsession, the car chose the name, not I) enjoy a chortle over this.  Deep And Express sounds like a porn courier service. “Good evening, I have an order of Throbbin Hood, Cliff Banger, and some lightly mentholated lube.  Sign here please.  No, it doesn’t need to be your real name.”

We descend the hill, Martha picks up momentum and I engage in the awful habit I picked up in Tasmania whenever the petrol gage is too near the E for comfort, of putting the car into neutral for a spot of coasting.  Petrol stations – not as abundant as you might think in Tazzy.

We begin to draw level with the lorry and I can see that the name is also written on the side, only it’s slightly different, Deepland Express.  The lorry is so shiny that Martha and I simply couldn’t see the big vertical bar on the back blocking our view of the L.

Sigh, the Deepland Express is not nearly so entertaining.  I think they should consider a name and indeed business change.  In a world where a major supermarket chain deemed it viable to sell Asparagus Water (don’t try and hide underneath your seats Wholefoods, it is you, again … 3 sticks of asparagus in a bottle of water for $6! ), there’s probably room for a speedy porn courier service.

 

You’re confused Senator McCain? So is everyone else.

The universe has a splendid sense of comic timing.  Within two days of posting that everything was coming up roses, my mum is diagnosed with pneumonia.

It’s all okay though, she’s doing fabulously well due to the modern miracle of super strong drugs.

Anyhoo today, along with thousands of other people today I watched former FBI director James Comey sitting on his lonesome at a table being questioned in front of hundreds of people, about his actions, his reasoning, his memories, his interpretation of events and of Trump’s behaviour and words. We could talk all day long about this and indeed much of the nation has been, a friend of mine in Washington DC posted that some businesses today closed their doors and went to the pub instead to watch the TV.  Amongst all the voices heard today, there was one that has got people ever so quietly and ever so politely murmuring, “What the hell was that?”

John McCain, since the election, has raised his public image considerably by facing the fact that Trump is a poor president, instead of red-facedly attempting to defend the insanity unlike some other members of the Republican party.  (There’s loads of them, we can single out Paul Ryan for sure, but you know ..iceberg, tip.)  Both Republicans and Democrats have been referring to him as a voice of reason.

So it was a bit of a shock to witness him, during his turn to question Comey, having what was at its best either an aging brain moment, or a My family has been threatened so I have to do this, moment.

Basically, McCain in his questioning said that Clinton and Trump, being the two presidential candidates, were part of the investigation into Russia’s involvement in the presidential campaign, and then implied that – since Comey had stated that no charges were to be brought against Clinton as a result of the FBI’s earlier investigation into her email situation – he had cleared Clinton of wrongdoing but Trump was still under investigation and so therefore Comey was biased against Clinton.

This is when the viewers went , “Eh?  What’s he on about?”  Because the thing is that Comey had already testified to saying that Trump was not under investigation at this time.  And he explained repeatedly that the Clinton email investigation, had been completed and closed without charges being brought against her.

So basically the real time situation is that there are two investigations: one that is closed in which Clinton was investigated and cleared; and one that is currently open in which neither Clinton nor Trump is the subject of investigation.

….and then there’s McCain creating an alternative universe.

I felt like I was watching Great Uncle Roger get really mad after Christmas dinner because he’s convinced that the game of Halo 3 he is avidly watching is actually the news, and the rest of his family won’t believe him when he tells them war has been declared.

I guess Comey felt the same way when he furrowed his eyebrows and declared “I am confused, senator.”

 

 

Exhaling, and a hint of mortal peril.

Ahhhhh.

Did you hear that?  Here it is again, louder.  Ahhhhhhhhhh.

That’s me, exhaling, a big deep breath.

The big scary surgery in the family went really well.  A bunch of other things that were stressing me out have been waded through or meandered off on their own, AND I got a month’s membership to a spa that is so focused on relaxation it has a room specifically for sleeping.  Lush.

I’ve been feeling all “Life is short! Carpe diem! Don’t sweat the small stuff,” and been squeezing buckets of lemonade out of teeny tiny lemons.  Stuck in traffic?  How nice to have time to listen to the radio!  Broken plate?  One less thing to wash. Put on weight? Well my cleavage looks fantastic and food tastes great – HUZZAH!

And for bonus points, last month I organized a 10th birthday party  and discovered the secret to kids’ parties: keep the kids full of sugar; the booze flowing for the parents, and provide entertainment that involves just a slight hint of mortal peril – we made fireballs in bottles!

 

F@*&ing computer

Today’s haiku goes a little something like this.

Fucking Windows 10

Fuck all your lies computer

You repair nothing.

I’ve had a challenging few days Not Thinking. I keep seeing people I haven’t hung out with in  a while, and the first five minutes always consist of inquiring after family, dating and work. It is a short and unfriendly catch up when you respond, “Um,… I’m not thinking about stuff so I can’t tell you anything.”

I find myself changing the subject to TV shows quite a lot. Everyone’s got some innocent yet guilty little pleasure they like to watch…. you just need to find their favourite  oxymoron.and then it’s back to successfully Not Thinking.

That’s is all for now. Writing blog posts on a phone is ridiculous. Fucking computer.

 

Today’s Distraction Provided by the IRS.

I’m exhausted.  Not thinking requires a tremendous amount of energy, no wonder all these meditational types are slender whippets. It’s also kind of a shock to realize how much of my day is spent in detrimental day dream.  I suspect I don’t normally notice because when the imaginary scenarios start happening in my head, I let them happen, so it feels like I’m only thinking about something two or three times a day, as opposed to constantly, incessantly, obsessively.

It is easy, and perversely soothing, to succumb to day dreaming, or day-maring as is the current case.  But the problem is that whilst the scenario in your brain is an illusion, the feelings attached to them and therefore the neurological consequences, are very real.  Imagining you’ve been in a vicious verbal fight?  Well all that hostility and hurt that you’re telling yourself is only pretend is actually very real to you, and is releasing the same damaging stress chemicals, such as cortisone, as if you’d really been involved in an abusive interchange.  Oh and you’re also molding you’re neural network to experience those negative emotions quickly and easily.

See… denial can be good.  Pretending the problem doesn’t exist can be a healthy option!

And with that in mind today we are concentrating on my call to the IRS.

Mrs Gearhart, you are patient, you are kind.

Your sloth slow speech is soothing to my battered mind.

Repeating to me a dozen times, the amount that I owe,

Is equivalent to a dose of Xanax washed down with lime SoCo.

Thank you yes I’ll use the website, to pay my due

From 2013, the year I made a big boo-boo.

The year my accidental double dipping,

Had the IRS guys completely tripping.

In my defense, Schedule E is complicated,

And Turbo Tax self-file vastly over-rated.

But now it’s done, all paid, I’m clear…

Until I cock it up again next year.

Train distraction

The train yesterday yielded an opportunity to try out my new method of not thinking about shit: making up terrible haikus and rhymes.

Here’s what we got in half an hour.

Young men on the train

Discussing who’s the bottom

Man in hat moves seat.

Yaars, so there were a group of guys in their 20s who either work in the gaming industry or really should be working in the gaming industry, because their conversation indicated that unlocking the next level is their great passion in life.  Love like that should not be wasted.

At one point though they switched tracks from the secret key you get after opening the sixth gate, to speculating which of their gay friends in established couples, was bottom and who was top.  The sixty something gentleman in the light blue bucket hat is not as nosey as I am so he moved further down the train rather than getting the low down on Saul and Andy, or Sandy as they are collectively known. (The consenus amongst their pals is that Saul is on the bottom.)

They took up again with levels after that so once more I was left fighting off a barrage of intruding consciousness.  Fortunately there was a poster of a hipster dude with a gloriously large beard on the train which led to some more Seussing:

That chap has a bird in his beard

How can he not have noticed?

Such ignorance is awfully weird.

Surely he must hear it squawking!

Why it interrupted my friend and I talking.

Surely he must feel it scratching.

Hmmn, maybe not…

His beard is thick like thatching.

The bird looks sick,

I hope it’s nothing catching.

Perhaps it’s weak

From protecting eggs that are hatching!

This man will be host to a cluster of beaks.

Baby birds not able to fly for many weeks.

Tiny creatures with no access to plumbing.

Surely then he’ll notice his beard is humming,

With a maliferous odor that is truly fowl.

Surely then he’ll evict that sodding owl.

 

 

 

Miserable Haiku and Inane Rhymes.

The last six months have been a bit on the mentally demanding side, and I don’t like to be bothered by too much cognitive action (Having worked in education for roughly two decades I am firm believer that over-intelligence is actually a bit of a burden.  Worry less about your kids getting As and more about whether or not they can hold a conversation with someone other than Baloney Boingo, the imaginary friend.)

The stress is mounting lately due to some fresh financial woes; the irksome, soul-crushing situation of growing more and more infatuated with someone who doesn’t reciprocate those feelings even a smidge; and a big scary surgery in the family – the kind that lodges a sack of sawdust in your throat.

Being a big fan of denial, I am trying not to think about these things when they crop up in my mind.  They crop up quite a lot though, roughly 120 times a minute …unless I am distracted by something else.

STAY BUSY, I command myself.  OCCUPY YOUR MIND WITH OTHER THOUGHTS.  Yep sounds great, excellent idea.  I have work to do, people to see, a to do list the length of the Amazon – piece of cake!

Apart from when I’m in the shower; brushing my teeth; cooking; cleaning; doing laundry; grocery shopping; driving; walking along the street; sitting waiting for a friend who has selfishly gone to the bathroom; watching or reading something that has to do with humanity; making future plans; going to sleep; waking up… oh my god there is just so much time in the day to think.  I am spending 12 out of the 24 hours yelling internally, “NO. NO, you are not allowed to think about him/her/them/that/those or any of that other shit.  Damn it you are still thinking about it – STOP THAT NOW!”

I met a woman years ago, during another overly pensive period of my life, who advised me whenever that happened that I should start cataloguing everything I could see in front of me.  “Oh look there’s a tree, a house, a brown house with red door, ugh ghastly color combination. Blue car with the license plate missing” etc…. which definitely works for a limited amount of time, but is quite exhausting to keep up, plus you  get flashbacks to ugly brown houses with red doors.

Anyhoo, I’ve been trying to think of different mind occupying tactics.  At first I thought haiku!  Try to come up with haiku whenever you find yourself having unwanted thoughts, it’s challenging, and good for the brain.  But then I realized that the draw back is you find yourself making up haiku about whatever it is you’re doing, which just happens to be mentally torturing yourself.  For example yesterday’s shower yielded:

Hot running water

Wash away feeble feeling

Fail miserably

Right.  That’s obviously not helpful haiku.

So now I’m moving onto making up Dr Seuss themed rhymes.  Being a bit cognitively fluffy at the moment I keep calling him Dr Zeuss, which has led to some crossover action.

Oh how I do love Dr Zeuss

When he writes astride a giant moose.

Armed with thunderbolts and lightning

He is so very frightening.

Ink spills on the page

In fits of stormy rage.

Sketching flutterbys and heffelumps

With angry cases of the mumps.

I appear to also have been influenced by Bohemian Rhapsody and Winnie the Pooh.

Mama, I just killed a bear,

Wearing red and eating honey.

It’s so sad, not remotely funny.

A tiger stopped mid-bounce

‘Asshole’, he did me pronounce.

Soooo yeah, there’s plenty more of that tragic rhyme coming your way.