“I don’t know, they drink, and they bend things at the bar.”

Someone stole my identity.  I found out today when my bank notified me my credit score plummeted over 200 points.  I won’t know the extent of the damage until I get some more information, but holy shit.  Fortunately, I don’t know how to feel about it, so I’ve picked nothing.  (It might just be because I’m overtired.)

I was too excited to sleep last night.  I had an epic breakthrough after decades of trial and error.  I gave up on the problem, and starting thinking of a new approach then found the solution.  I guess I just needed to stop pressuring myself.  (Hindsight is such an asshole.)  Instead of sleeping, I lay in bed listening to my favorite podcast.

It’s called, And That’s Why We Drink.  It’s hilarious and scary.  It’s two young women explaining all the messed up things in the world that led to their drinking.  (One drinks boxed wine, the other milkshakes.)  They’re going to get me in trouble for bursting into laughter (seemingly randomly) during the wee hours of the night.

It can’t be helped, other than my listening at a more appropriate time.  The hosts talk about the scary stuff (occult shit and serial killers) just long enough for me to forget I’m trying to be quiet.  Then I burst into full-on belly laughter again and end up shushing myself and feeling guilty.  (Because I’m Midwestern, I think.)

I also listen to Lore, of course.  And Myths and Legends is another favorite.  That stuff fascinates me.  It’s all about people.  I highly recommend all three podcasts.  I listen to them on Spotify, (which I love now that I finally kicked iTunes to the curb.)  I’m all about the CD or the streaming.  (No more renting disguised as owning.)

I love the time change.  Too bad I didn’t use any of it sleeping.  My eyes feel like I’m wearing contacts constructed of sandpaper.  No reading tonight, but I’ll listen to podcasts instead.  Until Oathbringer is released in just over a week.  Yay.  I’m off to beat my drums.

“You know, eighty-five percent of all homeless rickshaw businesses fail within the first three months.”

I’m having a day.  I have a lot on my mind of late.  I feel the need to express some vulnerabilities and flaws.  (Please, don’t hurt me for it.)  I talked on the phone with the woman who was my buddy in basic training earlier.  She explained I’ve hurt her feelings because the only time we communicate is when she contacts me.  I felt like crying, but I didn’t.  She said she wants us to be close again.  This is confusing to me.  I didn’t know we stopped.

I have no idea what took place between us to lessen the bond.  I love her dearly.  I have all along.  She’s a beautiful person.  Plus, she significantly improved my Sesame Street-level Spanish.  She survived basic training with me.  It’s one of the tightest bonds I’ve ever formed with a non-family member.  I didn’t know it mattered who initiated contact.  How can time weaken a friendship?  I don’t understand.  It’s like saying, I love you when I’m standing near you, but when I’m far away, my feelings change.

I told her I was confused, but I also apologized and asked her to tell me the rules.  (It’s an inside joke.)  She laughed and said she needs me to contact her once a month for no reason.  I’m relieved to know.  She said it’s not a universal rule, which frustrates the crap out of me, but at least I know what data to collect.  I told her she can count on it.  I’m going to contact her twice a month to make up for the fact I’m clearly using my calendar.  (I’m an optimist.)

It will take a while for my heart to stop aching over this.  I don’t know how to explain why I suck at being a friend.  I only have hints to work with.  I feel like I spend my entire life walking on eggshells.  They feel more like landmines.  It’s not for lack of effort on my part.  It seems like what I intuit is often wrong.  From there, I usually end up overcorrecting, which makes it worse.  By the time I find the golden zone, most people have decided to cut their losses and move on.

People are like art.  Each a universe of information and potential.  As with art, interpretation is everything.   The closer you observe, the more you get in return.  If it’s music, close observation entails repetitive listening with intense focus.  With people, you have to worry about observing too carefully or too often.  Most people feel vulnerable when scrutinized.  My working rule is to allow others to decide when they’re open to it.  (I devour what’s shared consensually and no further.)

The problem lies in the fact people usually express their discomfort in secret code.  I say secret code because the hints given vary widely from person to person.  (Aside from outright proclaiming, “Hey! Take a picture, it last’s longer!”)  All my data is from past failures:  I ask too many questions.  That’s a big one.  I ask weird questions.  Questions nobody ever asked them before, and they don’t have an answer already loaded, which is apparently annoying.

What I understand, is that people don’t really want to be as present in the company of others as is currently in vogue, but prefer popping in and out at will.  (I’m working on this, too.)  “Keep it light.”  “Don’t be so deep.”  “You’re too intense.”  “Relax.”  I hear it a lot.  I’m trying.  It’s counterintuitive and exceedingly counterproductive to my goal of understanding and relating to others.   I know it’s possible.  Other people do it all the time.  I just have to decipher the secret code.  (This is why I use a smartphone as an external hard drive for my meat brain.)

I need a computer to mostly fail at being a good friend.  Oofda.  I’m grateful I have a smartphone to help turn always fail into mostly fail.  I’m making progress.  I just hope the singularity occurs soon.  I’m going to need a lot more time at this rate.  I’m off to play my violin to some cows.  I need to spend some time with creatures I understand for a while.  Then I’m going to design an electronic drum kit for my foster brother who has cerebral palsy.  In exchange, he gave me his old Tama Cobra 600 single bass pedal!  He’s also going to show me why the way I set up my kit is apparently wrong, and give me other tips.  (He’s an excellent drummer.)  🙃

Ah, the sweet stench of failure.

I’m recovering from a smashed ego, today.  I’m trying to remind myself it’s an uncomfortable growth opportunity.  (It’ll probably go better when I stop internally telling myself off like a Drill Sgt.)  I know I should drop this step altogether, but it’s pretty ingrained, and eventually, it’ll make me laugh.  I think I enjoy swearing so much because it’s a taboo I decided is harmless.  It kinda went like this:  Swear words don’t cause anyone to die. Therefore, they’re harmless.  (I know, it’s toddler logic.)

I wish I could say that was the extent of my error, but it’s just the tip of the iceberg.  I also decided anyone who objected to my liberal use of swear words was being too sensitive, and should just avoid my blog.  Sigh.  When I mess up, I go all out, it seems.  I know better.  Who the hell am I to tell someone else how to feel, or react to my poor behavior?  Who made me the judge of what’s offensive and what’s not?  Where do I get off?  Right here.

I was wrong.  I was arrogant, rude, and insensitive.  I have no right to tell anyone how to feel.  Feelings just are.  Most of us can barely make any sense of them, and none of us can control them without lying to ourselves.  I’m sorry.  I invalidated people.  I did it while whining about being hurt by someone invalidating me, and still didn’t recognize my mistake.  My values are unable to accommodate using profanity.  My blog isn’t private.  I get it, now.  I’m sorry, and I’m correcting my behavior going forward.

I don’t go back and erase the foolish mistakes I’ve made because they’re a powerful reminder.  They’re my big brother punching me in the shoulder, asking, “What did you learn?”  It’s a lot harder to be arrogant when I know my past failures are still out there, ready to bodyslam my ego at any time.  I’m still pretty haunted by my pre-resistance rantings when I fell for divisive lies about Hillary Clinton.  I’m listening to her audiobook, What Happened?.  She narrates it herself, which is important to me.  I’m auditory oriented, (probably because my vision sucks.)

I probably should have waited until I recovered from the above pathetic mistake before I began finding out the depth of my political ignorance.  (Good thing I’m learning how to be a self-care ninja.)  I’m enjoying listening to her.  What I’d give to have done this with one of her other books before I publicly put my foot in my mouth.  Sigh.  It would have guided me away from the lies and propaganda.  Instead, I read sci-fi and fantasy novels, almost exclusively.  Fortunately, I also read Charles Dickens, J.K. Rowling, and John Irving.

Sci-fi and fantasy novels do have lots of information about ethics, but only if I bother to apply what I learn to reality.  J.K. Rowling wrote The Casual Vacancy, and I devoured it.  I have no excuses.  I failed to use what I learned, (despite it being a lesson in my own language.)  I feel like I’ve let down some of my personal heroes after they bent over backward to help me grow.  Don’t try this at home.  (I’m probably going to be dehydrated from this pity party.)

Cry Me a River is playing in my head, to boot.  Can you say drama queen?  Okay, enough wallowing, Alison.  I don’t have time to cry over failing.  I only have time to note where I went wrong, and fix it.  Alison 4.0 is under construction.  My last iteration only made it about 24 hours.  At this rate, I’ll need special characters to keep track.  Alright.  Let’s try this again.  Who the hell am I?  I’m Alison, an American who loves her country.  I’m a woman who has an incredible roster of individuals who exemplify my values where I can observe and emulate.

I’m a flawed human who makes mistakes often.  I’m a striving spirit on a mission to be the best me possible, without hurting others in the process.  I’m a better person today than I was yesterday, so there’s that.  It has to be enough because I’m going to make mistakes in the future.  Here’s to not repeating the same errors.  I’m off to wash my face and get busy.  I hope your weekend is going better than mine! 💜

Don’t think about the nose.

CW:  Ranty and sweary





I saw some alarming footage of 45 while overseas.  It’s not the first incident I’ve noticed.  I’ve been able to shrug it off before, but it’s adding up to a potentially horrible situation.  I think 45 is unwell.  (I’m a doctor, but not the type who can diagnose illness.)  I think something is seriously wrong with him.  I’m by no means a fan. However, he’s a human being who appears to be suffering.  I’m surprised by how much it’s upset me.

Any POTUS is subject to harsh criticism from opposing views.  Americans value this freedom.  It allows us to feel less powerless in a loosely representational democracy.  When a POTUS is clearly unwell, it’s different.  It’s like striking after your opponent is down.  It’s unpalatable.  He’s fucking up on a daily basis, but I seriously don’t think he’s himself at this point.

After watching the footage of him looking lost and confused, I have to admit I felt sorry for him.  He looked genuinely distressed, and I don’t think he has anyone in his inner circle who is looking out for him.  They seem to be rushing as fast as possible to enforce their agendas like they’re racing against time.  I’m starting to think that’s exactly what’s up.

With the ongoing investigation into ties with Russia, I doubt it will be long before the backstabbing begins.  I don’t think there’s any loyalty thick enough to keep loose lips from sinking more ships.  I knew things were going to get ugly, but when the person in the center of it all is clearly sick, it’s even worse.

I feel angry at the GOP leadership.  What the fuck?  They put party over country religiously, but there’s no unity within the fucking party.  It’s ridiculous.  It’s like they want him to humiliate himself in public, so they sent him overseas in this fragile condition.  They think about who wins when he fails, not how to prevent failure.  It’s despicable.  I had no idea there were so many short-sighted assholes on this planet.  It’s mind-boggling.

Tribalism doesn’t work with 7 billion tribes.  Fuck.  We have to come together and work this out, or we all lose.  We cannot exist together on this planet and behave like there aren’t 6.9 billion other humans doing the same fucking thing!  We have to evolve and mature enough to stop being barbarians who kill for something shiny.  We have a long way to go.

It’s a mindset that has to change, or homo sapiens will be a short, disturbing whimper in time.  I’m not talking about radically changing the government and introducing some bullshit utopia.  I’m talking about how we think, privately, within our minds.  We need to embrace the entire human race as part of Team Survival.  All this ignorant shit about skin color, eye shape, hair texture, etc. is holding us back and distracting us from our potential.

We’re an incredible species.  You know it, I know it.  We all imagine improbable human innovations throughout our lives.  We’re dreamers.  We’ve all secretly been a little disappointed we don’t have flying cars yet because we know it’s within our capabilities as a species.  A huge reason I like science fiction is it so often includes details about marvelous gadgets and technology created by humans.  I always believe we can totally pull it off if we focus and work together toward the goal.

I don’t even need to mention NASA’s history or the cosmonauts. We’ve gotten sidetracked by unbelievably immature wars and terrorism.  We still figuratively play Tic-Tac-Toe as a species, and it’s fucking embarrassing.  It’s pointless every single time, yet we keep doing it.  Most of the planet’s resources are used, wasted, and destroyed to secure access to more resources.  IT. IS. SO. FUCKING. FRUSTRATING.

It reminds me of when I was a little kid.  My older brother used to trade me a shiny penny for my dirty, crumpled up dollar bill.  He thought I was a sucker.  I figured he was a sucker.  In reality, we’re all suckers.  We traded a beautiful, lush planet that could sustain us in vast numbers for thousands of years, for fossil fuels, even though there were alternatives that would allow us to have our cake and eat it too.  FUCK.

Stop smelling your arm!

It’s been a long week.  I had to turn on the heat to maintain a comfy 65°F in my apartment.  It’s rarely necessary to run the heat, but my blood thinned when Mother Nature psyched us out with warm temperatures last week.  I’m still pissed off by the Trumpcare proposal.  You’d think it was written by a lobbyist representing the insurance companies.  Part of me thinks it was written this way deliberately, knowing it wouldn’t pass, to distract us from RussiaGate.  Another part suspects it will pass as written because money is valued more than people on Earth.

I feel like Congress is leading us on about RussiaGate.  I haven’t allowed myself to believe they’ll do anything to stop 45’s treason.  I guess you can say I don’t have a lot of faith in Congress.  Because most people don’t even bother voting, it’s easy to imagine everyone getting re-elected no matter how poorly they represent us.  I remember how hyped up people were for Bernie Sanders.  I also remember how few of them bothered to vote in the primaries, and then how shocked they were when he lost.

I have a hard time processing human behavior.  The more I observe, the more I feel like an alien.  I don’t understand how a species with such a strong survival instinct is so self-destructive.  We’re terminally shortsighted.  It makes me sad because we have so much potential, but we waste it on envy and hatred.  People are more concerned about a person’s net worth than their character.  They consider the person with more wealth the better person.  That’s so fucked up.  Especially considering the majority who possess vast wealth didn’t earn it and have no incentive to be considerate of others.

On top of that, the majority of obscenely rich people acquired the riches by unethical means.  Drumpf family wealth is from prostitution.  Now 45 is under scrutiny for being bankrolled by Russia.  There’s no pathway to multiple billions of dollars that doesn’t include fucking over others on the way.  So I guess I’m not as upset as I could be while watching my species self-destruct.  I’m more saddened by the loss of what could have been than what is.  Because what is probably shouldn’t survive.  And on that cheerful note, I’m off to read.

You were making out during Schindler’s List?

My blood pressure has stopped spiking.  I look like I mocked Mike Tyson while in arms reach from burst blood vessels in my eye, but it doesn’t hurt.  Seeing all the humans in my town and around the world at the Women’s March reminded me we vastly outnumber the troglodytes.  My participation was expensive but worth it.  Whenever I see The Foul Ones now, I imagine them wearing a sticker on their forehead fashioned after the Intel motto, only they say Empty Inside.  They’re much easier to spot now.  Most are eager to identify themselves.  It’s gross.  I shower more these days.

I feel fierce.  Drumpf is delusional.  I think he actually believes his own lies.  The GOP is astonishing.  I asked myself how someone makes it to adulthood without learning the most basic life skills.  The only explanation I’ve accepted is the bubble.  Humans who are born wealthy have a disadvantage.  I think they know this instinctively.  In some, it becomes resentment.  They hate us for being born free of their burden, but can’t bring themselves to give it up.

Wealth is a false sense of safety.  It can be quite convincing.  However, it’s a poor substitute for much of what makes life joyful.  People who are born rich are burdened with the challenge of discovering this.  I’m proud of those who figure this out while they still have time to benefit.  When I see someone who has, it makes me smile.  The difference between earned wealth and unearned wealth can be loud.  I’ll use the obvious examples:

Drumpf vs. Bill Gates.  I know there is a magazine that claims Bill Gates is the wealthiest man in America.  Understand this is bullshit.  Some American men were born so much richer than Gates his billions are chump change.  But for some reason, we don’t talk about the trillionaires.  Probably because they have more money than America, and we’re one of their customers.  Let’s go with that.

Drumpf was born in a bubble.  He doesn’t understand why he’s an outcast among his peers.  (He’s a con artist)  He can’t figure out how to make them believe in his fantasy.  He’s getting ready to try a lot harder, though.  I feel safer in my non-position of nobody than I imagine those who have crossed paths with Drumpf in the business world are feeling.

Rich Americans are probably playing their own little game of Chicken.  Things are about to get ugly.  Money isn’t bulletproof.  It’s a promise that can be broken.  A million dollars is still paper and metal.  There is no gold backing it up anymore.  It can’t protect you from reality.  It can shield you if you’re smart, but you’re still going to die.  If you hide behind it too often, you become Drumpf.  He is nothing without his paper and metal.  He buys stolen, second-hand dirt and puts gold plating on it.  It’s fascinating.

I hope Oprah is living in Austria, or something.  She’s a billionaire who owns a TV network.  She’s also a woman with brown skin.  Oprah is probably staying to fight.  She wasn’t born rich.  She knows she’s naked.  Drumpf and his kind do not.  They think they’re clothed because they demand it.  They believe reality is what they say it is.  The bubble told them so.

People who earn their wealth are often different.  Figuratively and literally living on both sides of the tracks can be advantageous.  Some wealthy Americans, like Gates, use their earned money to bypass the corrupt tax system and tackle problems head on.  He obtained the privilege of being more efficient.  He’s an adult.  Drumpf is Joffrey without Tyrion.  Adulthood is beyond his capabilities.  Earned money can also make the bubble trap spring tighter.  Some who are born to poverty are so traumatized they cling to money with a death grip.  Dickens wrote the cautionary tales.  Unfortunately, when you’re born in a bubble, reading is optional.

The GOP is relying heavily on the promise backed up by nothing.  They want to punish us.  They hate us for existing.  We make them feel ashamed of their greedy and vile behaviors.  They resent having to hide their depravity.  They know we see they’re empty inside, and they hate us for it.  They want us to play along with the fantasy or die.  The furious rage they display at being compared to Nazi’s is a tell.  They know it’s true and hate us for noticing.

Failure is inevitable for evil.  There will always be those who know right from wrong.  There will always be those who value honor over paper and metal.  Who know happy moments are what it’s all about.  Who value a few real friends over several of the fair weather variety.  We are the majority.  We live in reality and have the scars and lessons to guide us.  We know the bubble is a cage.

If I like their race, how can that be racist?

It’s supposed to go down to -26°F tonight.  That’s actual temp.  Then it’s going to warm up next week.  We usually have a few nights like this every winter.  It’s what I call biting cold.  I had to walk to my car in -22°F last winter.  It was about 20 yards, and I was near tears by the time I got in my car.  I wasn’t appropriately dressed for the weather.  It’s a funny thing about city people in winter.  We have two modes:  Dressed For It, and Just Running to My Car.  I have everything necessary to endure a night in the Arctic, but most often I wear a light down jacket, knit hat, and I run whenever outside.  It’s not terribly windy right now, which helps.

I’m going on a ride-along with a neighbor who’s a sheriff tonight.  He’s funny, so it’ll be fun so long as we don’t find any frozen dead things.  I’m going because I really can’t take another news story about a teen who broke down and froze to death trying to walk home.  Or a homeless person, or a mother, etc.  This way I feel like I have a little bit of control.  Last year a woman froze to death within steps of the door to a shelter west river.  I go from happy-go-lucky to can I just die now whenever I’m reminded of the precariousness of life.  I’m starting to suspect this is an autism thing.  I’ve noticed autistic friends who share this trait.  We’re generally happier, but can also be thrown into despair by what neurotypicals tend to shrug off.

Maybe I’m only observing people who are surprisingly similar.  At least my autistic friends encompass a wide diversity of adult autistics.  I used to get angry when people compared autistic adults to children.  It felt like an insult meant to hurt.  After much thought, I think what they’re picking up on is how we interact with the world.  In reality, they should include all neurodiverse people and many neurotypicals who are probably borderline, making us the majority of humans, meaning we’re normal and the standard is weird.

Having come to that conclusion, I decided we’re all weird, and I like that.  We just need to be kinder to one another.  If I seem child-like, it’s because I’m living in two worlds simultaneously.  My inner world, and the outer world.  I prefer my inner world, I just can’t spend as much time there as I’d like.  My cat won’t allow it.  Adulting won’t allow for it.  So I stretch and strain and struggle to force my square peg into the round hole.  It’s exhausting.  It feels like sprinting uphill.  My boss at my new job caught me singing twice so far.  The first time, he looked at me like I just ate a bug, and asked if I was singing.  I looked up, nodded, and went back to work.  The second time, he started playing air drums.  How did I not have a crush on him in high school?

He’s married with children now, so I can’t see him that way, but he’s a fun guy, (fungi).  It turns out I do code unusually quickly.  I have to apologize to Sean now.  It’s going to be a text apology with lots of colorful emoticons.  I like my new job better.  I like being a peon.  It’s a great way to recover from being a leader.  I pretend I’m a Cyborg typing to the computer in it’s chosen song.  I love that game so much.  I hope they get over my singing while I code.

I haven’t breached the topic of bringing my trampoline to work.  I think I’m just going to stay on course, and Kramer it.  I’ll bring it on Monday, and set it next to my desk like it belongs there because it does.  When I feel frustrated or get interrupted, I like to speed jog on my portable mini-trampoline.  It’s so fun to just run as fast as you can while going nowhere until you can’t help but laugh.  It uses up all my pent up frustration in seconds and undoes some of the damage of sitting.  I can’t code or game on my treadmill desk.  I’m not coordinated enough.  I made my guild god lose her shit when trying to tank and walk.  I fell off the world again, and every toon died.

I need a treadmill that moves my toon the same way I move my body.  When they sell those to consumers, I’ll be all over it.  I rearranged my living room and bedroom.  At some point, I must have smacked my hand against something hard, because I have a huge bruise on the back of my hand.  It looks like I tested a foundation meant for Wesley Snipes.  I want to see a movie where it’s just Wesley Snipes and Samuel L. Jackson yelling at Dane Cook and Carlos Mencia for not being funny.  For ninety minutes in a military latrine (acoustics), while Matt Damon, Taye Diggs, and George Clooney sit in Eames lounges laughing uncontrollably.  Please, and thank you.

I want Judd Apatow to direct it, and Louis CK to write the script.  Also, I want Melissa McCarthy, Ellen, and Rosanne to interrupt whenever they feel like it.  That is all.  No.  I spoke too soon.  Anna Kendrick and Aubrey Plaza have to be in it too for my friend Collin.  Maybe they can live-tweet it on camera.  Yes.  And soundtrack entirely by Twenty-one Pilots doing whatever they want because I love them.

Then cut to Will Smith finally receiving his Oscar for best supporting actor in Six Degrees of Separation.  If you haven’t seen that movie, stop being mean to yourself and watch it.  The cast includes Stockard Channing and Donald Sutherland.  That’s right.  That’s all you need to know.

I can’t believe you gave him my pink shirt!  You’ll understand why that’s hilarious after you see the movie.  (It’s not even a spoiler.)  Speaking of which, I haven’t seen Rogue One yet.  It’s hard to type that without crying.  I’m just not where I need to be for a movie in the theater.  I hate that I can’t go see every sci-fi or action film the night it’s released.  I hate that PTSD and autism prevent me from seeing lots of films that interest me.  The cost is just too high.  It seems like the older I get, the lower my tolerance for overstimulation.  That seems illogical, which infuriates me.  I don’t know how to distance myself from what’s happening on the screen in real time.  I can’t figure out how to get my shields to activate.  It sucks.

I don’t know if I’m alone on this, or if it’s something many of us face.  If you struggle with it too, please acknowledge in comments.  Thanks.  I’m overtired.  I didn’t sleep last night, and when I tried to nap I couldn’t settle down.  It feels like I’m using sandpaper for contact lenses.  I’m going to take a bath, then curl up and watch The Flintstones on my Raspberry Pi 2 B that is a dedicated cartoons player.  I ripped all five seasons to a USB 3.0 SSD 64GB hard drive and installed Kodi on the card.  I want to add The Jetsons, King of the Hill, The Boondocks, and Aqua Teen Hunger Force in the near future.  I may need to get a bigger hard drive, because I just realized I want to add We Bare Bears, Steven Universe, Bob’s Burgers, Archer, Teen Titans and Hey Arnold.  I got a 10″ HD screen that has a case for the Raspberry Pi on the back.  The whole device cost under $190 at Amazon.  Cartoons make life better.






Twenty sponges should be plenty.

It’s been a cold week, so far.  Unfortunately, running outside in winter makes my blood thicken, as I acclimatize.  It makes me intolerant to heat above 65° F.  Just below that is my comfort zone until it warms up again.  It’s making my cat seek warmth, which is adorable.   I make her a pup tent out of a blanket, and she crawls inside.  As she adjusts her position, she collapses it and turns around, so just her bum is exposed.  This is her day spot.  At night, she curls up on her little pillow beside my head and snores loudly.  The cuteness factor is off the charts.

I had to talk on the phone twice today.  I hate talking on the phone.  Hate.  It offends me on a primal level that somebody would have the audacity to interrupt my life, and then demand I respond vocally when it’s not the ideal form of communication I choose.  It’s right up there with religion.  I endured.  The first call was due to a class action lawsuit with my car.  I was entitled to around $300 because Hyundai lied about the gas mileage.  I didn’t collect it because I knew they lied before I bought the car.  I didn’t care.  It was a discrepancy of a few miles per gallon.  My car is 3.5 years old and has less than 3,000 miles on it.  Clearly, this wasn’t a concern.  It most certainly wasn’t a reason to call me on the phone to demand an explanation.

Perhaps I’m wrong in how I perceive a class action lawsuit.  I assume it’s for those who want to participate because they feel the grievance applies to their situation.  I’m not one of those people.  I tend to allow myself to get worked up when I encounter dumb behavior that involves me against my will.  It feels incredibly justified so I just run with it.  I hung up.  Then I thought of a few things I would like to have shared with him but chose not to.  Laughing is how I get worked down.  I allow myself to do that as often as possible.  Another call was from a seller on Amazon.  He wanted me to remove my negative feedback if he agreed to refund the restocking fee he imparted on a DOA return.

I wanted to say no, but I realized my complaint was exactly what he was offering to rectify.  I hate being an adult sometimes.  Most of the time.  I went to the Optometrists office yesterday and then chose some new glasses.  The woman who helped me choose my frames was a riot.  I could tell she enjoyed her job.  I love being around people who are happy.  I picked some blue and purple frames.  They’re feminine and funky.  I’m most fond of the gradient effect.  She teased me about my decision to purchase glasses online, which cracked me up.

It was especially funny because I was wearing my internet glasses at the time, and they’re falling apart.  I haven’t felt well since yesterday.  It’s mainly weather related sinus issues.  I have a busy day scheduled for Saturday, and my body has decided it should start freaking out well in advance.  I hired a company to come and get my excess stuff and recycle or sell it.  I wish it was Sunday, but I’ll settle for looking forward to Sundays arrival.  I’m off to read.