My vision becomes clouded
And blacker, bleaker still
I become a piece of stone, heavy for the kill
I made you once but slay you now
Bleating, bulbous, bloated cow
Your continuance I can't allow
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I'm really tired today. I've been out and about. I rode the bus from around 9 to 2 today. When my sis got home at 4:30 we ambled out again. Now it is my turn to cook supper. I'm going to be done for tonight!
Stop 1: County Clerk. I got there as they opened and managed to conduct my business fairly swiftly (about half an hour). I tried repeatedly to pay my taxes through the Missouri Collector's website but to no avail. I spoke to the Collector's office repeatedly and wound up being referred to the team that supports the page. Again, to no avail. Once at the Collector's Office in person, things went smoothly, and, of course, they knew exactly what was wrong with the web site. My "account" number with the Collector changes every year. Why in the name of all that is computerized would someone assign an individual an account number that changes annually? Needless to say, nobody could have told that to me on the phone, and enabled me to get the new account number and complete my payment online. Why do bureaucracies insist that they be permitted to torture you in person?
Stop 2: was at the Cingular/ATT phone store. I have finally got a cell phone again. Kudos to Dave at the Cingular next to Barnes and Noble in Jefferson City, MO. He spent a lot of time with me, did some programming of numbers, and just generally was helpful. What a strange thing! Now that I have a phone again, I feel like such a techno-ninny. I can't work this phone worth a damn. It is not just being unable to read any text that it displastys, it is gross unfamiliarity with phones. I was a programmer for 20 years. I owned several phones. Some of them were geeky-nerdy-programmer-phones frighteningly feature rich and complex. What brain damage am I suffering that I can no longer cope with a phone?
Stop 3: involved the local grocery. I muddled through the deli section and picked up some things for tonight's supper. I went over to the sushi counter and razzed the sushi chef until he made me something I wanted (spicy tuna rolls, and some salmon and crab nigiri, and a really delicious vegetable temaki - hand roll). I felt compelled, also, to restock the English muffin and bagel stores.
Stop 4: Home again home again jiggety jig! I snarfed the entire meal in about 30 minutes once home and was ready for nap just about as Sis arrived home from work.
The afternoon's adventure at Target: was fairly unadventurous. Sis shopped for button-down shirts (de rigeur at her new job) and "stuff". I shopped for jeans, v-neck t-shirts, and "stuff". Mostly we found "stuff". I did get jeans that are not as horrible as my usual stuff. My size is 40-waist, 31-inseam. This is murderous to find. Worse, typically the only jeans available in this apparently bizarre size are made of fluffy stretchy cloth, have vertical-slit pockets, pleated fronts, stretch waists, and a tendency to be colors other than traditional denim blue or black. I hate buying "fat" clothes. Why is everyone with a waist bigger than 36 assumed to be a bulbous tub of lard with a desire to be fitted with Omar the Tent-maker's latest never-touch-your-skin fashions? I have the same problem with shirts. I try to buy a shirt and people assume that because I have a gut that I want to wear a puffy hot-air-balloon of a shirt that can't be tucked in and which doesn't actually touch me anywhere. Do you get that shopping for clothes pisses me off? I won't even mention the fact that they didn't carry a v-neck t-shirt at all.
Nothing more for now.
Grumbles from the grave. Night watchman at an old cemetery is a lousy job. No matter how unimaginative or stolid you might be, you eventually start hearing night noises. The guy before me did. They guy after me will.
Seems like it is worst at Midnight. Of course, the fluff-brains would call that traditional and want you to believe it had to do with astrology, the position of the stars, the moon's orbit, or what-have-you. I think it's crap. I just think that is the time when the world's grip on reality is at its weakest. I think that's all it is and nothing more.
The world is what most people believe it is. When everyone is awake and thinking, nothing supernatural or disturbing happens. When everyone is asleep, dreaming, using that monkey-brain at the back of the one we use all day, the one that just reacts, fears, scrambles up its tree to howl, that's when the stuff that we can't believe during the day comes out. We believe a lot of things deep down in the dark that we don't believe in the light of day.
So when I hear grumbles from the grave I don't doubt my senses. I don't panic either. I just walk on by and let the restless ones do what they have to do and I try to cope with the problems that affect me during the day. I right the occasional tombstone. I re-seed the grass that mysteriously dies. I report the "vandalism". Occasionally, I shout at kids that stumble onto one of the really active graves, but unless they do so I just let them sit down in the back corner where they think I don't see them and let them spook themselves.
I just work here. It's not up to me to fix the world.