I “won” a gift certificate at a school auction, the masseuse won’t return calls to sked my appointment, and when she does? This is how the computer translates it. kinda funny… But I don’t think i’m going to get that massage any time soon.
“Hi this is Rosie. so(?) I hung up. We’re disconnected my phone disconnected us or something but I’m hey I was trying to come up with it the day that you could gimme a buzz but I don’t work Saturday. So I’m at work so we can been work Monday through Friday. And for this summer I’m trying to take two days off for the most part I might be able to bring something if I have day care but otherwise I have that deed designated as a mommy day. So just you know I guess I need you to call me back and let me know if you can do it anytime during the day or I have a couple evenings a week I work late. So I’m not to be ugly-to-her-thursday-than(?) Friday. So I do need a call back and we’ll schedule that. Okay thanks bye.”
I think about what it’s maybe like in Heaven. My cousin, who shot himself in the head; my uncle (his father), who wrapped his car around a tree; my Dad (my uncle’s friend, and the man my cousin loved most next to his own father), who jumped off a bridge; my Grandpa (who loved my cousin, my uncle, my Dad, so much) who kept threatening to shoot himself, until my uncles took away his guns. So he went off dialysis and stopped eating and was gone in a week.
Yeah, I bet that’s a real g.d. interesting conversation they’re all having, about their rights and how much easier everything is, now that they’re gone.
Now, how about you tell me that suicide is painless, while I’m sitting here alone, with their pain and mine, on a Saturday night. When people kill themselves, that pain doesn’t go away; it just gets transferred to someone else is all.
That’s all. Someone else carries it.
This is all getting stirred up for me in a kind of huge, ugly way, because of Newtown (Clackamas Town Center, Columbine, Springfield, Jonesboro, on and on). All the Yosemite Sams are jumping around, shooting themselves down both legs at once, no gun control bs, “gotta stay safe!”, loading up on new guns and ammo, going to gun shows, taking shooting classes, taking out concealed weapon permits, NRA bs, 2nd Amendment bs, on and on until I want to scream from it, really.
You know what people like to shoot with guns? Themselves. And children. And their wives. Women, in general. Wait. And men. People like to shoot men, too.
No more guns. They’re not worth the cost.
This song always makes me feel a little better. I’ll just play it twelve more times and try to get some sleep.
…first you’ll have to pry my gun from my cold, dead fingers… if those kids had been armed they wouldn’t have been shot… it’s all the mother’s fault, she was single… guns don’t kill people, single mothers kill people… 2nd amendment guar-an-damn-tees me my right to AK47s and lots of ammo… and… cue Ted Nugent, celebrity spokemodel. Finis.
“The irony flag was up in my head before I even started reading, and I knew it wouldn’t take long. I made it to the third paragraph. ‘But with class sizes swelling and teens more prone to text and tweet than string paragraphs together, schools and teachers face a tall order.’ And I could go no further.”
i had a dream last night that we left the suburbs (where, oddly, it takes me five minutes to walk to the woods. even tho it’s the suburbs — i can walk up the hill, down the hill, or up the *other* hill and find… woods. #myneighborhoodhasdeer). where was i? we moved back to our old neighborhood and everyone and their chickens were happy to see us. that’s how i knew it was a dream. hahahahahaha…
they were all, Don’t let the door hit yer ass on the way out. Sort of like when i left Thee Oregonian.
our last day in the old house (for reals, this wasn’t in the dream, it happened), Steve and I were making a final check and there were two of the neighbors — neighbors I had known well. Who we had had over for meals. Whose parties we had gone to. Hell, we even threw some parties together! there they were, staring at us from across the street. just having a little hen party and being weird. was it raining, or did it just feel like it? It was raining. No waves, no coming over to say goodbye, just the hard cold stares. I finally waved, and yelled, Guess we’re not going out for that drink you were talking about, after all! (steve: be nice. me: i cannot.) they were not friends, turns out. just asshole neighbors. our real friends from the old neighborhood we still see.
we’ve met some nice people out in our new neighborhood — neighbors, friends, co-workers, parents from the school where I was assigned last year, parents from my kids’ schools. we’ve settled in, it feels good.
seriously. i woke up this morning from that dream in a cold sweat.