SuperGurl

It can start like a sharp, hot pain in the back of my neck. Sometimes, presents itself as an intense, though brief, all-over nauseating shake. Many times, I won’t even feel the sweat welling up in my palms, only noticing when I leave a handprint on a piece of paper.

One thing is certain, I will always have a physical reaction to the mental hurdles I face, whether I conquer them or not.

Change is a beast that way. Makes me think even less (if possible) about democrats that misrepresent change as a good thing. Change is never a good thing, because change denotes the unknown.

And like a battered child, no matter how bad it actually is, I can get used to it. I can rise above it. I can excel despite it. Just please don’t tell me to change it.

Change is a monster, one I wish you would slay. I obviously can’t. I’m too busy crying to myself in the corner, and sucking my thumb, and yelling out irrationally, and begging for yesterday. However painful, remember yesterday? We survived it.

Doesn’t survival count for anything anymore?

Apparently, no. And I wish I was talking about the election. What I wouldn’t pay to be this invested in the election. No, this hits much closer to home. So much in flux, I’m having trouble finding anything stable enough in my environment to keep in focus, to steady my pace.

And with school starting, and summer ending, I figure every eye that brushes this page is enduring some shade of the same. Which is why I’m passing you this prose-made tissue, to show you I feel your pain and to soak up a little of that transition fluid.

Good luck with yours!

You who keep up have probably seen this already, but I had to post it.

Too true!

We live on a block with five other little boys. The constant knocking at the door when I get home from work is an expected annoyance, the door flies open every fifteen minutes.

“It’s two hundred degrees out here, Mrs. Supa, may we please come in?”

Likely story, kid. I grew up in Houston with 98% humidity. You think this is bad? You don’t know hot. This is Texas, you better learn to love the heat.

Found myself in an interesting conversation with the youngest of the bunch. We were sitting on the front porch steps when I asked him, “How many kids do your parents have?” He is a surprise baby, so his siblings are in college and I have never known who was in the family.

“Three, I have one brother and one sister.”

“Neat. Do you have a big family? I mean, counting everyone on your mom’s side and your dad’s side?”

“Yes. We have a very big family. But it’s my dad and my brother who are on my side. Yep, pretty much, it’s me, my brother and my dad. My mom and sister are on the other side. We stick together because the girls in our family, they’re crazy.”

Oh, I bet.

Why, feast your eyes on the fruit of my thighs…

   Sweet,
yummerly,
blog children.

   Is there anything like them?    In this whole wide world?

   Ya’ll, let’s be honest. At this point, I had decided I just didn’t have it in me.

   I saw other blog children being borne, growing up, and well, I guess at some point I just accepted that my tree didn’t bear fruit. Plenty of nuts, but fruit? Nunya.

   I’ll admit, it was hard not to be jealous. I remember when NAVY CPO dude was borne. I think I said something catty to Harvey. I’ve met Harvey! We were instant friends, I talked his head off! But still, when I saw another Bad Example Family member hitting the wires, I actually felt my blodge equipment wheeze in disgust. I thought, sheesh, someone needs to sterilize your ass, Harv.

   I know. Bitter. There is no call for that type of stinking thinking. But I was a woman scorn. Realizing somehow my real life lacking in social skills had conveyed on over to my cyberlife, I gave up the dream. Figured, hell, I can’t have children the way I keep changing my addy every nine months. They might find me!

    Camp BlownStar changed all that. Paul, CharlieDelta & Kerrcarto were instant brothers, natural blown-eyes. But it was there on the first night that I witnessed the bigger picture. The lurker bond I had fostered became a multiple blown-eyed birth. It sounds disgusting, I know, but believe me, every second was beautiful. (Especially once ole CD ripped off those cumbersome clothes and rejoined the party–Blessed Second Wind!!)

    I met my blodge progeny. They are each really cool. They are all conservatives. They are funny as hell and they are some of the most persistent drunken mofos I have ever had the pleasure to hang with. I hope you will check em out (if you haven’t already) and if they offend you, well, big freaking surprise. You should hear the mouth on their mama!

    And forgive me, Harvey, again, for previously thinking such terrible things when I truly adore your amish-like sprawl. It’s still not for me. Obviously, neglect is my number one blog instinct. I think we can safely strike this one up to just another mix up in the rustling of the leaves and the crackling of the lawn chairs. Chaos breeds.

   But I do so love my blown-eyed boys. Now play nice, fellas! Watch the linky love. Be careful troll hunting and don’t forget to spell check. Someone around here should.

Sorry, Ya’ll. Life is all consuming these meager days. You are missed and I will see you soon. Hopefully this evening, but no promises.

Until then, Ya’ll, be good