A Rational Animal

My father completed his four-day journey Tuesday afternoon.  Normally, I would’ve switched back at that point to the old white-ground/black-text template.  But I’ve decided that, on balance, I like the black ground with the coppery text - at least to the extent that I like any of Blogsome’s canned templates.  I suppose I really should learn to build my own, but sweet Jeebus, there are already too few hours in the day.  So, for now, this look will remain.  [Now, if I can just keep the hamsters bribed . . . .]

Actual blogging?  Where the hell do I begin?  Every day brings a new fresh hell of crimes, obscenities, and general outrages:  Gonzo; TSP and data mining; a U.S. embassy built by kidnapped laborers; bullshit interpretations of habeas corpus; the fragging of an American soldier covered up first as a combat death, then as the result of "friendly fire" . . . . 

But I can sleep tonight (well, maybe) knowing that the intrepid members of our Fourth Estate have a solid grasp of what’s really important:  Hillary has tits!!!  And CLEAVAGE!!!

Just fucking shoot me now. 

 Image by Edward Gorey 

Yeah, story of my life.

I’ve spent the whole week dealing with death:  picking up my father’s ashes, writing his obituary, dealing with family members, sorting through countless odds and ends - immersed in the details of the end of someone else’s life.

This is the second time in less than a year that I’ve had to do this for a member of my immediate family.  It’s the fourth person I’ve lost in the last year and a half.

Sometimes life pretty well sucks, y’know?

Add to that that I’ve had no Internet access for most of today (well, now yesterday, since it’s now 4AM ).  And add to that the fact that on Friday, my weekend plans were canceled at the last minute by a third party.  No opportunity to make alternative plans; no ability to make alternative arrangements for a Saturday meeting that I’ve had scheduled for eight weeks.  My schedule for four days thoroughly fucked. 

Sometimes I’m really sick to fucking death of feeling as though I exist solely for the convenience of everyone else.