My conversion to Buddhism is imminent for the karmic retribution I've endured this week past has been epic. Frankly I'm sick of thinking about it, but in passing I'll report that last weekend was pretty miserable, insofar as I was informed that I am detestable, despised, that eleven grown ass women got together as a group and collectively decided to be mean to me. On purpose. And then someone walked off with my camera.
Yesterday my FarmVille went to hell, and good God did this piss me off, because do you know how hard it is to watch your rice crop wither and die before your eyes AND NOT BE ABLE TO DO A DAMN THING ABOUT IT? Plus I lost about a billion gifts that my kind neighbors kindly gave me. I don't even want to talk about all the cash and XP I missed out on, all because I couldn't harvest and harvesting is kind of important when you're running a farm.
AND THEN. Last night I pulled out my copy of Where the Wild Things Are 'cause I wanted to show my boyfriend Max's kick-ass outfit, and ugh, I don't even want to talk about it but I will: MOLD. Practically every book that was ever gifted to me had turned into a petri dish of disgusting, including a 25-year-old copy of The Secret Garden (incidentally THE first book ever gifted to me), a 20-year-old copy of The Lorax, the book that made me into this person everyone apparently hates, and a gift from Heather Anne I received shortly after telling a particularly disturbing story about the Washington Redskins. I cried and cried and repeated "it's just stuff" over and again, but I didn't and I don't believe it. I mean, my God, my books.
So in an effort to be kinder and gentler and more pleasant to have around I semi-rooted for the Bills yesterday, which prompted my boyfriend to ask, "What is up with that?" So maybe I've made myself slightly less hateable, but now I kind of hate myself.
So hey, some good things: My friend had a baby! Not only do we know everyone at the Irish Channel, but you can add the bartenders at Jaleo and Momiji to the list. Tonight is the first hockey game of the season, and I get to bring Mysterygirl! to the game on Wednesday. I'm seeing The Walkmen tomorrow night. Abigail and Cate are coming to visit. Whiskey is delicious.
So yeah, everything is fine.
Whiskey is delicious!
ReplyDeleteAnd I get to see you soon!
we shall drink whiskey!
ReplyDeleteYay, hockey!
ReplyDeleteI'm really, really sorry about your books.
Thinking about moldy books makes me sad. I'm sorry to hear about them.
ReplyDeleteI once had to peel a moldy breast pad (these are used by dripping nursing mothers) out of the garbage can, and I did not like it. But I would do it a thousand times more if it would save your books.
ReplyDeleteSo maybe I've made myself slightly less hateable, but now I kind of hate myself.
With age, I'm growing partial to being hateable.
meh. it's just stuff.
ReplyDeleteI have two books that have mold that I left in the Sun, until the mold was dead and still won't get rid of them, though I keep them isolated from the other important books. Because sometimes just stuff is more than just stuff.
ReplyDeleteI feel your pain, kat.
Also? My father, in a disturbing burst of wisdom, once told me that if you make it through this life without someone hating you, then you haven't really lived at all. By that measure, I've lived several lives already.
Thank God whiskey still tastes good.
I'm insanely jealous that you get to see Abigail soon, and equally jealous of her getting to see you.
ReplyDeleteSo befuddled by envy was I in the initial reading, that I could hardly be properly horrified by the audacity of any mold that would dare to attack books. Now however, on re-reading, I am appalled. Such an organism is evil. Evil!
I agree with Shari. As usual. Hee. I have nothing clever to say because work is making my brain bleed.
ReplyDeleteSorry about your books. :(
Um, books are not just stuff. Books are like children except better because they don't poop and they always smell awesome, even when they're old.
ReplyDelete