"Happiness and peace are found when we are in harmony with ourselves, with God, and with our fellowmen." ~Barbara W. Winder (Ensign, November 1985, p. 96.)

My ability to make people happy proved to be hit and miss today. Maybe I do it better in costume. I could try that, I suppose. I did make one of my friends happy. I informed him of the opportunity to participate in a photo petition. He seemed excited by the very idea. Of course, he insisted that I had to join him in this endeavor. So somewhere out in the wild world, another photo of me has come to life. At some future time, some confused historian or family history expert is going to find all these photos and be truly confused.

In other exciting news, I managed to only keep a darling little girl from crying for about half the time I spent with her. Despite an obvious abundance of estrogen and deeply hidden affection for short people, I failed to keep her from crying randomly. She did seem to enjoy hobbit dancing though. Everyone enjoys hobbit dancing. Not much else to report at the moment. I am full of salad, short on words, and staring at even more pictures with wild abandon. Why? Because I am hoping these pictures hold clues to what I should give people for Christmas. I have one present ready for presentation and that is not nearly enough. I mean how can I expect Santa to give me all sorts of wonderful gifts *winks at Santa*, if I don't come up with good gifts for others...That sounds so vaguely familiar...Hmmm....

then you don't have to read it and can go back out into the bright yet frigid world for real-time fun and excitement. I love how the world has become a phone booth, a private office, and inner sanctum. I just wish my ears didn't work sometimes because the things people share are not as interesting as they believe they are. Of course, I am well aware that the things I share are not always of interest. In fact, they tend to only amuse me because I am the person who knows the key to the riddles. I say this because the day has lacked interesting moments.

I could create my own drama, but I am trying to limit my creations to those things I can sell, wear for kicks, or distribute as X-mas presents. I have a large list as per usual and a desire to not give some people what they think they deserve because, quite frankly, they don't deserve it. I shall not go into my judgment system on that. I'll just state that just because I may want a three car garage with the appropriate number of sexy cars does not mean I have earned it or really need it. If you do feel like buying me at least one car though, I'm okay with that, but maybe you could get me a gift certificate so I can pick it out myself. I fear receiving a Hummer. I am not sure I can drive something that big (not without a lot of really fat clowns to fill it).

If you let the little things kill you, you'll never accomplish the big things you were sent here to do. It all makes sense in that perspective, doesn't it. Sometimes we rely too much on what the world is telling us to do. I have seen it proved again and again that the world doesn't know what it is talking about. Haven't you heard the things they are saying about me? Or are you saying them, too?

I assure you that I know how to think. When I want to know your opinion, I will research it. Send me all the fliers you want. I can look over them briefly to see what you think is wrong with your opponent and then burn them for heat if the electric goes out. In fact, send me more. I think I know where to find some homeless people who need heat. I don't really appreciate the phone calls though. If someone wants to take their time to call me on your behalf, that's wonderful. I am glad someone is supporting you, but I would appreciate if they followed a few simple rules of engagement:

1. They have to be an actual person not a recording. I don't want to talk to Greg the Dish guy when he calls either. I hang up on him and I will hang up on Grace or Virginia the political headquarters lady.
2. They should be aware that opinions are like armpits most people have at least two, and I am not going to change mine simply because some stranger calls and tells me to.
3. They should not assume I agree with them.
4. They should try not to sound bored.
5. They should not get angry when I don't say "Hallelujah" after every statement they make.
6. They should at least try to say my name right...
7. ...and not argue with me over the proper pronunciation.
8. They should have something more insightful to say than "vote for the candidate I support."
9. They should remain polite to me. In fact, if someone is being polite to them first, they should be thrilled.
10. They should not eat while telling me how wonderful you are. Somehow I think the munching, swallowing, and slurping noises might just distract me from understanding that you are indeed the candidate I should support.

Thank you!

"Surely you know some whose lives have been filled with adversity who have been mellowed and strengthened and refined by it, while others have come away from the same test bitter and unhappy." ~Boyd K. Packer, Memorable Stories and Parables, [Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1999], p. 94.

If you don't want anyone to know, don't do it. ~Chinese Proverb

Always put off until tomorrow what you shouldn't do at all. ~Morris Mandel

The bridges you cross before you come to them are over rivers that aren't there. ~Gene Brown

How many cares one loses when one decides not to be something, but to be someone. ~Coco Chanel (1883-1971)

You cannot do a kindness too soon, for you never know how soon it will be too late. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Unshared joy is an unlighted candle. ~Spanish Proverb

One filled with joy preaches without preaching. ~Mother Teresa of Calcutta

So this day off has been less productive than I hoped. My muse is still mocking me somewhere and my projects are cloning themselves just to drive me crazy. I'll make it all go away eventually. That is, I will, if it doesn't make me go away first. Being so constant, so dependable, so reliable ends up being rather a letdown in the end. This world rewards the lazy, the indolent, the malicious, the immoral. We see it every day, but we refuse to see it. We rationalize that it is all okay because someone else told us it was. How on earth can we claim to be the most intelligent animals when we have come so far from doing and thinking for ourselves?

I don't know why I am such an advocate for thinking for myself. I tend to get a lot of flack for it. *shrug* Maybe, if I can convince myself that I am the very best at everything and know everything, I can get by with being pompous. Maybe if I play nice, I can completely ignore people and feel like I am doing them a great favor. It's a sad world where I have to fight really hard not to weep when I come face to face with my "friends". I just can't believe so many of them can't see the bias with which they face the world. I am amazed that so many think they are helping me by trying to crush me one way or another. What? Never seen me crying over you? Didn't I mention I should be an actress? If only I were the photographic kind of beauty...

Don't let some pictures I have posted confuse you. I had to take many many shots to get ones I deemed close enough to attractive to share with the world. I don't want to be a model. I don't want to be seen as gorgeous. I just wish I could make people see. Of course, when I try, they tell me how wrong I am. Sadly, I am not wrong. I've said it before. I need to take my own counsel. If I did, I would never end up in Fairmont. My car would be running. And, you know what, I'd be happy despite the fact that many people would want to blame me for their sadness. After all, what would they do if they didn't have their backup buddy waiting in the wings? Someday, I will be first mortal priority to someone and that person will be first mortal priority to me, and heaven help the gossips, jealousies, and fools who try to destroy something good in my world...

Chasing my muse through halls too narrow
For her wide hips, but I tend to borrow
More strength from clinging to her skirts
While my heart opens, my soul flirts
With a darker muse, whose darker fare
Could make me rich, successful anywhere
But my muse elludes me again and I find
That she is lost in my narrow mind

"Knowledge is of no value unless you put it into practice." ~HeberJ. Grant (IE, 36:224.)

Have you ever looked at old recipes? I mean really looked. We complain we don't have a Kitchen Aid, but at least we have hand mixers and boxed meals and prepackaged foods. Can you imagine having to hit the market to find fresh produce, bringing it home, chopping and dicing, rolling out acres and acres of dough? No wonder our grandmothers looked so thin in pictures. They worked off all the calories that went into those rich delicious meals just making them. I think the Hot Pocket *pockets endorsement check* I had for lunch may have affected my brain.

Of course, it could be the swelling from feeling so loved and needed. My five day vacation came to an end and I entered again the hallowed halls of knowledge. Imagine my lack of surprise when I found that my desk was buried. Luckily, I am a closet archaeologist and I made some fabulous finds and some hoaxes that could go into my trash can to amuse the janitorial staff. I also managed to catalog and ship off a few items of interest. Someone somewhere will be celebrating tomorrow to have their little darlings.

Now I am sitting here facing off against myself. As is known to happen in these situations, I am losing. Granted, I am also winning, but I am not sure what I am winning. I better go look at the rules again...

I could call this entry anything I want. The previous entries prove that. I can make it about anything. I can write in any language I please, even one that won't exist until I make it. After all, this is all a journal really is: moments alone with myself where the world can look in the window and see the show I put on.

I could choose to invite you in the door. I could let the would-be vampires suck out my weary soul in my blood, sap away the strength in me. I could wait for the perfect moment or the right time to make my world come it's conclusion. But virtues like patience are often lost on me. I tire of waiting. I tire of knowing everyone expects me to be there. I tire of advice that isn't really for my own good.

I suppose I could sleep more. That could make the weariness go away, but I am not made like that. My inability to be truly lazy is another of the signs that I do not belong in this world. (Don't worry, I don't mean it like that.) I just have to work harder, fight harder, and continue proving the fools who take me for granted wrong. In the meantime, I have Christmas to prepare for, a car to tinker with ("If you want the job done at all, do it yourself."), and cats to keep at bay.

"It is a denial of the divinity within us to doubt our potential and our possibilities." ~James E. Faust (Ensign, May 1986, p. 21.)

"If we will keep our covenants, the covenants will keep us spiritually safe" ~Beal A. Maxwell (Ensign, May 1987, 71).

If you came in and found me with blood on my hands would you help me bury the bodies or cook the steaks as the case may be? Would you accept me if I proved definitively that I am not a possession? Would you still claim to care if you didn't think I would be able to drop everything every time you claimed you needed me? Would you still want me to be there if something "better" came along? I know some of you are saying yes, but you have repeatedly proved it a "no". Don't point fingers unless you're looking in the mirror. Just trust me on this one...

Ever feel like your whole world is built on someone else's lies? Ever feel like someone has seeped so far into your blood that only they can quench the fire that is eating you from the inside? Ever wonder what it is like to be at the center of some hurricane that no one else can see? Ever want to take the fire from the inside and banish it into your world to burn away the false facades and worthless tripe so you can be sure at last of what it is that you should be doing?

Being a diva is not easy. A lot is expected of a diva. Being the rare breed of all-weather friend is even worse. It is worse still if you have self-declared best friends who don't realize how little you have in common. Add on those friends who think their subtle barbs go unnoticed. Do I really want to hang out with someone who is constantly comparing themselves to me and finding me completely lacking in the beauty and social skills they think they have? No, not really. I don't want it anymore than I need random phone calls from drama queens assuring me they haven't killed themselves yet...

Somewhere in the myriads of things I do from day to day and week to week, I have become about twenty people. If I put everyone I know in a room together, I bet all they would agree on is that I am nice, reliable, and rather amusing. I'm like a clown without all the make-up (and the big shoes, though I do want the big shoes). My theory would prove true, but then I would have to deal with the confused masses that would emerge asking such questions as: "She knows about country music?" "She said she never watched that?" "Bella knows how to speak for herself?" It would just cause too much trauma. Ah well, I know what needs to be done. Who wants to fund me? You say you care, then slip the dollar (or am I thinking too big here) you want to spend in the Dollar Tree for my Christmas present into an envelope instead. What do you have to lose...

Yeah, I know I am a little ahead of myself, but I know the Christmas demands will be great. As I have mentioned, Santa's elves as people know them are really hobbits. As October (and the Dark Riders) wind down, we start thinking of tinkling bulbs, Christmas carols, eggnog, and sugar cookies, and sometimes it overwhelms us and we cry and no one knows why....

We're constantly looking for that five second high. We've been doing it since we were children. Think it over. It explains those urges to eat paste. It explains why we let older and thus sager family members talk us into eating crayons. It also explains why for a brief time we really thought the different colors meant different flavors. For a moment reflect on some other five second highs. The first time someone threw us up in the air like an airplane. The first time we drew a picture that remotely resembled what we were drawing ("Mommy, this five-armed stick woman in the crooked skirt is you...") The first kiss from someone who truly loved us. The first time a fuzzy kitten stalked us to our room (maybe that is just a cat lady joy). Cool summer nights, moonlight, water...

What if we could be truly happy for longer than that? Would we grasp onto that knowledge? Would we be willing to trade our lies for the truth? Would we be willing to let go of that which is false and untrue? I ask myself that question a lot. Every time I do, I find myself shedding another layer of this world though. I didn't fit in to start with, and I am feeling more and more like I should be soaring away with Thor (the sexy Asgard). Of course, most people don't agree with that, but most people don't know me very well. Anyway, I have some more fabric to fondle, words to weave elsewhere, and secrets to share with Ziggy...

"Hold fast to the blessings which God has provided for you. Yours is not the task to gain them, they are here; yours is the part of cherishing them." ~J. Reuben Clark, Jr. (Church News, 14 June 1969, p. 2.)

"If we are to hold up this Church as an ensign to the nations and a light to the world, we must take on more of the luster of the life of Christ individually and in our own personal circumstances. In standing for the right, we must not be fearful of the consequences. We must never be afraid." ~Gordon B. Hinckley ("An Ensign to the Nations, a Light to the World," Ensign, Nov. 2003, 82)

"Faith can live in neither isolation nor disuse. When you take away works, faith dies." ~Sterling W. Sill (Ensign, March 1971, p. 35.)

"Our Savior cares for all of his sheep. What a tribute it is to be recognized as one who cares." ~Marvin J. Ashton (Ensign, November 1987, p. 22.)

The traditional holiday feast was celebrated with out typical aplomb this evening. We had turkey. We had sides. We had all the carbs a self-respecting hobbit could need, and we had a fabulous array of desserts. My dessert was a casualty of malicious cat munching, but luckily my recent trip to the store compelled me to buy some insta-cookies (have coupon, will purchase), so I had a back-up plan. We also had random wrestling, pseudo-organ playing, tall people trying to make me eat pieces of cake bigger than my head, and a prevalence of adorable babies that needed to be admired. I kind of got the impression that someone has been spreading the rumor that I eat babies to the wee ones. If you are reading this, please stop. I don't like it when the babies look scared (unless it is October).

Afterward, I got to follow a cute hobbit and her adorable hobbit baby to a toy store. I suppose I should offer up the warning that I have a need for toy stores, but they don't have a need for me. Nothing relieves stress better than trying to figure out the point behind big shiny buttons, flashing lights, and strange noises. Some people find these qualities in children's toys annoying. I think they are fabulous as long as I am helping them make noise. The other great thing about toy stores is....? Yes, that's right, baby books. As many have discovered, I missed my calling as a dramatic reader of children's tales, particularly ones such as Knufflebunny, Llama Llama Red Pajama, and Please, Baby, Please. Ah, to be young and innocent, eh....

"With celestial sight, trials impossible to change become possible to endure" ~Russell M. Nelson (Ensign, May 1988, p. 35.)

"When the satisfaction or the security of another person becomes as significant to one as is one's own satisfaction or security, then the state of love exists" ~Harry Stack Sullivan, (Conceptions of Modern Psychiatry, [1940], 42-43).

The morning started out pretty average. I got to watch my roommate lumber along in true zombie style since he hurt his toe. Then I found my way under my personal Christmas tree to finally give attention to some unopened boxes. The first book from these new prizes yielded a spark for my dementia. I don't know how many of you have seen Woody the Owl, but he is truly adorable. He has a little Robin Hood cap complete with a feather and a little tree emblem on the front. A lot of the books I was looking at were advertising the 75th anniversary of Arbor Day ("Hail to the Trees!"). These mini-ads featured this adorable fellow, so every time I looked at a new pamphlet, I saw a new picture of my little pal. After all the time, we spent together, I decided to invite him into my cube.

Now your normal human would just photocopy the page for this endeavor. I am not a normal human. I am, in fact, a hobbit with strange habits (happy hobbit habits) and piles of paper all over my desk. I grabbed one of these aged, yellowed pages and carefully traced my new friend. This led me to the realization that tracing can be a bit of a pain. It is also caused me to realize that the art of tracing I learned in my youth has slipped a bit, but Woody is still cute, so my cubicle has welcomed him with open metal space.

Of course, as all should be well aware by now, I do have some real friends. I managed to convince a couple of them to let me tag along on their lunchtime journeys today. No, I didn't have to use threats of violence, bribes, arm-pulling or tears. We stopped in at the new sandwich store on High Street. After all, the University City can never have too many of those, especially around lunchtime. I tried a sub that contained one of those fascinating hippie foods that I need (for my happy hippie hobbit habits)--sprouts. We reached the conclusion that they taste a little like dirt, but I choose to eat them anyway. It makes me feel so, well, Californian... I also realized that it is nice to see brothers and sisters that like each other and have conversations where one of them isn't droning on like a history teacher while the other one drifts off. And my other realization, it's good to spend time with friends, particularly ones you don't spend a lot of time with. It helps me appreciate this crazy, mixed up world and all the crazy, mixed up people who keep stirring it up (or in this case, the abnormally sweet and innocent ones who mellow it out).

"Come on you unbelievers, move out of the way/ there is a new army coming and we are armed with faith/ To live, we must give/ To live/ And lend out voices only to sounds of freedom/No longer lend out strength to that which we with to be free from/ Fill your lives with love and bravery/ And we shall lead..." ~Jewel, "Life Uncommon"

"By listening emphatically, we often can help others find their own solutions. " ~Marvin J. Ashton (Ensign, May 1983, p. 31.)

"All I can offer the world is a good heart and a good hand." ~Joseph Smith (HC, 5:498.)

"In the kingdom, the greater our responsibilities, the greater is our need to see ourselves as servants." ~Spencer W. Kimball (Ensign, May 1979, p. 107.)

I've been struggling for an hour. I should be doing something entirely different, but somehow I just don't want to take that leap. Instead I sit here reflecting once more on the world I don't belong to. Is it me who doesn't belong or someone I am too close to, though? That's what my dreams make me wonder. Sometimes when I sleep it makes sense and feels right. At other times, I find myself feeling like I am someone else pretending to be me while I dream. Or more to the point, I am in someone else's dream trying to make sense of their desires.

And then I am reflecting on meetings. They have their purpose, but some days it just feels like we are hearing the same things we already know. And there I am sitting next to someone who is taking copious notes on things they already know? Sometimes I know it is because the way the person worded it was just too cool not to make note of like all the quotes I feel like tossing into my journal entries of late. Ah well, I can only fight myself so long before even I tire of the games. Why doesn't anyone want to play with me...*fake sniffle*

Any true cat lady can relate anything in life back to her cat. I like to relate work back to my cats. Some days, work is like trying to deal with Rodney and Ziggy. I give each of them part of the day. This is how I slowly make the piles on my desk shift and morph. It's quite amazing. My aspiration is to get some of my special, smelly agriculture books back on their shelves so I can get more. Every one has to have goals, and why shouldn't mine involve stinky fiche. Of course, after tomorrow, I will have five days of fabric and paper fun in Bella's private archaeological sweatshop.

Every time I try to clean my room, I find some other unfinished project to distract myself with. It makes me marvel that I have ever accomplished any of these. I have quite a few to square away over the next month. Otherwise, I may lose my position as Santa's helper. And I don't want to lose those awesome shoes with the turned up toes. Besides, Rudolph and I are going to hang out and make some havoc this year. Oh yes, we know how to party, but I'll have to talk about that later. We haven't even had the joy of too much turkey yet. And yet, I had to start the day with someone else's choice to hear Christmas carols.....hmmmm...

November 20, 2006: Storm Is Coming

Broken bones are the ones that tell us of the storm that approaches. They're the ones who see the world for what it is, what it could be, and what it is becoming. It is something in that refinement process of fighting to become anew like unto old. Some nuance in the air brings the pain back. Something we can't see or feel (unless we are watching the radar avidly) comes over the earth and envelopes us in the center of its storm. Do we listen to those early warnings?

Not usually. Thus we find ourselves becoming the eye of the storm. Despite our potential to grow, to help, to educate, to share, to feed, to clothe, and eventually to accept all as equals and make sure all are aware of the responsibilities and blessings we can share, we would rather do the opposite. We live in a world where we would rather have someone looking to us from fear rather than love. We would rather stand atop someone's shoulders than walk by their side. We would rather be publically admired for cruelty and acts of feigned bravery than silently applauded for gentleness and love.

Where do the hippies, the goddesses of love, the understated divas, the delicate butterflies, the promise-keepers, the givers, and the shy ones have place in this world?

I am sneaking one in under the wire. It has been a long time since I saw this hour and felt this awake. It could be the ongoing battle with Niobie. This stubborn girl refuses to let me win. I have been tapping at her for over and hour now ans she still won't play nice. I might have to take her out and shoot her. It's hunting season, so I can just claim I thought she was a deer. Ah wait, something is happening. I think she may be giving in. *stares off into space* THUNK!

So I had the day off. This means Ziggy had to find a way to celebrate. She coughed up a hairball for me. I was not amused. Life happens like that sometimes--one hairball at a time.

Despite the unpleasant gift of the morning, I decided to accomplish something anyway. I didn't accomplish much, but the hobbitmobile seems a little happier. The more times I stick my head under the hood to complain, the more I get the impression I should have been born a guy. The only problem is that I don't think I could handle that for very long. Granted, being a girl has it's obvious setbacks, but occasionally, I like to play the tear card. Wow, I haven't done that in a while--no real reason.

And now I am typing the hopelessly dull journal entry because I can't think of what to do with my current moment. Despite the piles of fun to be had all around me, I am not feeling overly motivated. Maybe I'll crawl back into my recently made bed with a book. Sounds like childhood--WHEEEE!

"We all need heroes to honor and admire; we need people after whom we can pattern our lives. For us Christ is the chiefest of these." ~Spencer W. Kimball (Ensign, May 1979, p. 47.)

They speak of a country where the people take one day, one day out of all 365 (and a half) to be thankful for everything that they have been given. They gather together. They share laughter. They share fun. They share potatoes. Sometimes they share the gravy. They share pie. They rarely share the whipped cream. They share stories. They share weight gain. They share turkey. That's right, big juicy turkeys--turkeys like me and you. We get out one last gobble before they gobble us up. Then how did this tale come to be told? How did the secret get out?

In an age we can not remember, one turkey found himself in line for this great feast. He was large, he was plump. He had juicy thighs. He also had the will to live. They called him Turdduck. Well, the little blond girl named Teffie called him that while every one else called him Thanksgiving Dinner. She loved him, cooed over him, and one November Wednesday, she was bawling her little eyes out next to the kitchen table while her dad tried to explain it to her.

"Baby girl, you knew Turdduck was going to be a special guest at Thanksgiving dinner..."

"No, daddy, he's going to be dinner."

Her big blue eyes grow wide with amazement that even daddy doesn't know this. Surely, daddy knows everything. Her father puts his hand up to cover the smile forming on his lips. Then addressing his daughter with great seriousness, he does what any father would do. He tries to reason with her and her gourmet palate.

"But, darling, you love turkey."

"But Turdduck is my friend..."

Turdduck has been watching all of this from his perch in the tree outside the kitchen window. His turkey senses tell him that he is no longer safe here. He knows it will be hard for Teffie, but he must go to preserve his own life. With one last look at that tear-streaked face in the warmth of the kitchen, he flies off into the sky.

It is a brief flight. His flight plan takes him over a field from which some aspiring marksman takes a shot. He is winged, and that is all it takes to knock him to the ground. He finds himself looking up into the dark, dark barrel of death. Some say that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, but Turdduck assures us that the light is a hoax. He says he saw only darkness, and smelled brimstone. Having never been so near death, I tend to believe those who have faced the scythe and lived to tell the tale.

Anyway, through some stroke of luck, he pulled himself back from the edge. The vision before him now was just as ominous. He found himself looking up at a massive bulging gut. It was barely concealed by a thick flannel coat whose buttons were about to lose the battle to hold it in. He could see a faint hint of a stained pair of long-johns and massive hands in worn leather gloves clutching a long stick. As he looked up at this potential future resting place, he heard a bemused voice.

"Now whar did dat birdie go. I 'ad 'im in me sites."

Turdduck barely managed to hold in a shocked gobble. That gobble would have been the death of him. Now he is too intent on survival to gobble. As the man begins to shamble forward, he shambles with him. With luck he manages to remain out of sight until the man shambles next to a hedge. He sneaks around the hedge (potentially names Steve, but that has not been confirmed), finding a few friends who help him find his way out of suburbia and ultimately to our utopian turkey society. Here he has shared his knowledge of avoiding the treacherous world of holiday baking, allowing all of us to live in security. This is why we celebrate Turdduck day with a special treat known as tofurkey. Someday, we will convert the humans and live in peace...

But what of the plight of the soybean?

Ah, the season of giving is upon us. My list of people I still have to find the perfect gift for remains long and lacking in check-marks. I shall try to fix this to the best of my ability, but I am feeling a little hassled and frazzled this week due to the fact that it is the end of the month (which means that random people suddenly want to visit me and I suddenly want to visit other random people--what's that all about?). Oh, and, of course, I am preparing to give away one of my mistresses which means some party planning. If you don't hear from me after Friday, she may have made me eat epoxy after the bridal shower for annoying her.

Anyway, the gifts are already appearing to brighten my season. Thus far, I have received an apple, Riesens to live, a toothbrush, some crafty fun (which has helped decorate the cubicle next door, with the help of my normal trash, of course), and a barcode scanner (okay, so that is just an addition to the surplus fun in the cube next door). Try to compete with that, I dare you ;) Now if only there was an Eclipse in the cube next door for me to hit on...

Not much else has happened today. My phone keeps ringing, but even that fails to bring more excitement into my world. It seems like the less time I have to talk, the more people want to. They even keep going when I tell them I am about to head out the door. Have we really become a society that can't trust or respect each other enough to realize that some of us are really about to go (and probably need to do things like pee or find our keys before we can leave? Welcome to a new age and bring a gift!

So I am having another personality crisis. Beautiful Bella is still here, but she has started to do things that I find out of character. For instance, I keep looking for my coat and finding I have put it away. I have also started to make my bed. The cats have noticed because instead of fighting them for the bed, I just pull back the covers and push anyone on top off them out of the way. Certainly makes for a shorter time between wanting to be asleep and falling asleep. In the meantime, Sheryl Crow songs plague me, as do thoughts of Greek triangles and math. But what does it all mean?

As some of my readers may not be aware, one of the things I do is send out random e-mails to inform people of things. I try really hard to make sure they are things people would be interested in. Sometimes, I admit, I may go a bit far in trying to get information to everyone who may want or need it. If going beyond what is expected is a flaw, then I am more flawed than Swiss cheese is full of holes. Perhaps it is the cynic in me, but society seems to have reached a state where you are expected to give the bare minimum that is required despite any talents or abilities you may have. This doesn't really lend itself to progression, but that really has nothing to do with my topic.

I have sent out a few e-mails this week to inform some people about things that are going on. Now, I can't promise that the recipients really want these e-mails. Some have even read the fine print and realized I am more than willing to save some time and effort for everyone by removing them from the list. Another flaw of mine is that I get vibes from e-mail, instant messages, wall posts, letters, and other such forms of communication that tend to depress me. A couple of the responses asking not to be e-mailed made me sad because something told me they didn't mind getting them, but they minded being reminded of aspects of themself that they are trying to repress. Other responses were very, very polite, but gave me the impression the person was trying to put me in my place. I know I am not perfect, people, but if you wait through a couple of e-mails before telling me you don't want e-mails about such activities, you have no right to be sanctimonious that I wasn't psychic and didn't know before I even sent the first one. Anyway, just a thought process I had to share.