* that Watson IBM thing on Jeopardy was stupid. I am such a die-hard Jeopardy fan, and you know I belong to the Ken and Brad fan club. So it sorta headached me, is what I’m saying. Gimme a real game, not an avatar.

* Steve is at work; Wacky Boy and i are home with colds (sore throats, coughs, fatigue, and perhaps just a general sense of ennui)

* They bring Brenda back to GH, I’m over the moon cuz she’s always been one of my favorite characters, and what? they’re going to kill her off now, instead of having her marry Sonny? Cussin’ writers. Do it right, writers, i mean it.

* I have tendonitis from my library work (and facebook, and too much mousing, and from typing too fast. i’m like, crazy-fast typist). It goes up my right arm, stopping for a special pocket of pain in the elbow (i think it’s cussin’ bursitis or something, too? I smacked my funny bone — NOT FUNNY — a month ago and it is still swollen and tender), then travels all the way up my shoulder, down into where my shoulder bone’s attached to my/back bone, then up the right side of my neck, up and over my ear, into my jaw (thank you, TMJ, you suck, too) and into my head.

What does this all mean? I hurt all the cussin’ time. and it hurts to type. and you know i love to type (see: work stuff — required by law; e-mails; FB; my book; various writing projects and yes, blog). it pains me to type. it pains me to say that. it pains me to mouse mouse blip all day, too, at work. (checking in/checking out.) it pains me to carry around large boxes/armfuls of books, dishes, laundry, and i can’t grip sometimes with my right hand. it also hurts to just write longhand (see: journal, pen, propped up with pillows, ow).

i write, therefore i am i write, therefore i am i write, therefore i am i write, therefore i am i write, therefore i am

honestly, I can’t blame this on middle age. I’ve been dealing with some of this crap (thyroid, girl problems) since i was a kid. and yes, i know i need to go in for physical therapy, but i am scared. I just worked up the nerve last week finally to go in and get my bloodwork done (again) for thyroid. I LOVE my (now-former) doctor, she was amazing. she also had this great practice with four or five other doctors. I saw most of them, in the few years I’ve been going to her, and they’re all as great as she is.

However. They’re in north Portland, and we now live on West Side. Fancy West Side. And I haven’t been willing to start with someone new. I love my doctor so much. She has two kids my kids’ age, and she’s from the neighborhood, and she can handle anything (see: thyroid, see: wacky heart, see: follow-up on surgery, see: bronchial pneumonia, see: flu shots; see: general bitchiness). This doctor would never randomly cut into me on a Monday morning, is what I’m saying.

I found a new doctor. They’re nice. They took my blood and only bruised me up a little. My one “good” vein collapsed years ago. My “second-best” vein is nearing collapse. To cheer me up, the phlebotomist told me awhile back, We can just take it from behind your knee if that one collapses.

Because that’s just what sounds good — a needle coming in at ya from behind the knee.

So when i am being a big baby and refusing PT? Too. Many. Issues.

xoxoxoxo

me

some days are good, sweet, filled with chocolate bon-bons and kisses and more love than you ever thought you’d receive.

Other days?

“Just another hurdle on my way to the grave,” in the words of Joey’s Grandma Pigza.

Hey! you know what I did for fun, though? Made a bunch of posts on here “public” and not “private” so… it’s like an Easter egg hunt, kinda. (Clue: check the “remodelling” category. hahahee!)

Reading this week:

“I (heart) you bear-y much, Miss Librarian.”

awwwwwwwwwwwww…

it is my trademark.

also, happy sixth anniversary to my blog, i love you, blog.

you know who’s funny? Bossy, that’s who.

that’s all I can come up with. I’m trying to write (fiction), the kids are asleep (but not for long) and Steve’s banging on the drums like he’s Hitting Birth or something. Completely Grocery or something. (joke! insert “Completely Grocery” joke here. Or check out Nero’s Rome, dressed in bunny suits.)

OK, sometimes I miss Steve playing his saxophone and piano (he’s mostly playing drums and clarinet now) but you know what? They’re loud, too. All music is loud. So I’ll just focus and write, eh? We need some soundproofing, cuz our daughter plays, too. Our son is next…

and i bid you, adieu…

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

— wm

what if your band released four albums in four years and they were these four: Aerosmith, Get Your Wings, Toys in the Attic and Rocks? hahaha. Yeah, we’re watching Steven Tyler, JLo and Randy J. on American Idol every week, Steve and the kids and I. (Note to self: Get Steve hooked on American Idol. Check!) And all I think when I see Steven Tyler is, His first album came out in ’73 and I remember when it was released. OK, that’s bad enough, I’m so freaking ancient. Not as ancient as him, but still.

But my copy? We didn’t have a lot of money when I was a kid, so buying a new album (or 45, more like, more in my price range), it was a big deal. When my friend gave me a copy (I was 12 by then) it was such a gesture of love. He’d been carrying this album with him everywhere (his family moved a lot, including back and forth across the country, between Oregon and Washington, and Oklahoma and Missouri). It was broken right in half — just the very edge, maybe three inches or so into the record? He was heartbroken and couldn’t afford another copy. And they didn’t have a record player by then. When your dad likes to play the dogs and the horses, food and rent and everything else come last place in the family budget.

And you can sell a record player and buy a few drinks. So he gave me his copy. When I played it, I’d just snap the edges back together and rock out. We both liked Movin’ Out and Mama Kin. “Living out your fantasy/sleeping late and smoking tea…” And Dream On, of course, but who didn’t? And One Way Street. Who am I kidding? We just loved the hell out of that record, but those were our favorites.

Oh, my God. Our childhoods, growing up in that neighborhood. Whenever my kids kvetch, I ask them, Do you know how to drive yet? (They’re 8 and 11.) Get on it, because in my old neighborhood, we all learned to drive by the time we were 12.

(Let’s say, for example, you’re at the track with your dad. Not my dad, he was long-gone, but my friend’s dad. Drunk dad = you better know how to drive his drunk ass home.)

“You’re lucky you don’t have to drive your drunk daddy home! You’re lucky you don’t have to go get a job helping the guys at the gas station, cuz your mom doesn’t have enough money to support you! I started babysitting when I was 9! We all worked!” At that point they’re all, Here, I’ll set the table, OK? Calm the cuss down, Mama.

So Aerosmith meant a lot to this little rocker. And still does.

The End.

Reading this week:

All Oregon Battle of the Books titles. Check out the lists — really good this year, as always. The state competition will be 9 a.m.-1:30 p.m. on Saturday March 5th at Sunset High School in Beaverton, Ore. (Check here if you’re looking for OBOB book recommendations for next year — including confirmed titles.) Happy reading! — wm

“The players make the manager. It’s never the other way.” — George “Sparky” Anderson, who died Nov. 4, 2010, at age 76

“Of all the preposterous assumptions of humanity over humanity, nothing exceeds most of the criticisms made on the habits of the poor by the well-housed, well-warmed, and well-fed.” — Herman Melville, novelist and poet (1819-1891)

“Libraries are far from the rarefied cathedrals of secular humanism they pretend to be, while librarians are the shadiest creatures this side of the Russian mob. Scratch the adamantly bland demeanor of any librarian and you’ll find trails of broken hearts, bathtubs full of meth fixings, and covert careers in porn.” — David Schmader, Last Days, 17 October 2002