Aggravation (143) Anxiety (94) April Fool (1) Bitchiness (65) Bobby (84) BP (7) Burning in Hell (36) Bush (66) Calme au Blanc (13) Catholic Church (33) Charlotte Cushman (11) Cobalt Blue (26) Confusion (11) Crime (22) Daily Life (145) Dangling Conversations (46) Deep Thoughts (47) Depravity (29) Depression (45) Divertissement (15) Embarrassing Moments (17) Family (44) Friends (110) Frozen (15) Fun (60) Gay (67) Gertrude Stein and a Companion (19) Glass Menagerie (34) Good Things (72) Government (58) Gustav (16) Hate (20) Holidays (36) Hope (37) Hugging the Shoulder (6) Humid City (9) Humor (155) Hurricanes (3) Internets (8) Jesus (5) Justice (6) Katrina (119) Latrine (15) Life in the Quarter (353) Louisiana (12) Mardi Gras (85) Mark Rylance (1) Movie Stars (35) Music (22) Nagin (20) New Orleans (126) News (28) Nighthawks (29) NOLA Partee (1) Obits (12) Our-Leaders-in-Their-Wisdom (111) Outlaw City (126) Personal (405) Photography (532) Pity Post (11) Politics (79) R I P (12) Religion (20) Retirement (11) Righteous Shit (24) Sadness (37) Saints (19) Search-Engine Crap (20) Sex (34) Sick Humor (61) Silly Stuff (151) Southern Decadence (22) Striking Words (23) Stupid Shit (217) Take Me Out (41) Tattoos (18) Tennessee Williams (65) The End (1) The Human Comedy (15) Theatre (510) Thinking Blogger Award (1) Thrill Me (37) Treme (7) Valhalla (42) War (28) Weekly Photo Challenge (41) Weird Shit (9)
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Sorry, I Have Nothing to Say
Why anybody would ask me why I haven't written a book is beyond me.
Why anybody would think I should write a book astounds me.
There are too many books out there already. Way more than there are good ones. Certainly too many to read or even worth reading. And I pretty much gave up reading books when I retired from my job with the State. Now that I'm no longer employed, I don't have the time.
That isn't to say I have lots of things to do. I don't. I just don't have the time to do them.
That probably doesn't make sense to you, and that's because you're younger than I am. Just wait. One day you'll wake up and realize, hey, didn't I just have my first cup of coffee so I could poop, and now you're telling me it's time to go to bed?! Believe me, when you reach September, you discover time passes before you knew it was coming at you.
Besides, about the only thing there is to do for people in my stage of life involves doctors. My own and my friends'.
And that can be a good thing.
It can be a good thing because you can tell your partner that you have to drive ... oh, let's say Eric ... to Ochsner's out on Jefferson Highway for his Coumadin appointment when what you're really doing is slipping off to see your own doctor because your dentist scared the hell out of you the month before by telling you he didn't like the look of that ...
Well, I really don't want to talk about that. It's probably nothing. That's what my doctor said before offering me antidepressants.
Why should I need antidepressants? I mean, okay, I broke down and cried in his office that one time, but that was several months ago. And, okay, things haven't really gotten any better, but what's so unusual about that in this day and age? And, yeah, I worry about money, and I'm angry a lot, and pretty sad most of the time ... but depressed?
I can handle depression. Depression is my natural state.
What the hell, I took the pills.
Now, I have stomach ache and diarrhea; but it's still early. My body has to adjust.
And why shouldn't I be depressed?
Bobby decided to go the insurance route with the broken rear-view mirror on the car (that's a $250 deductible), and since I cover the insurance while Bobby takes car of the car note, my insurance rate will probably rise.
We brought the car in on Monday, got it back Wednesday.
I have to say, the repair people did more than they were supposed to do (I hope nobody gets in trouble for me telling this little secret - if they do, I'll come back and delete this part). That was nice.
Might even be worth the raise in the rate.
Then yesterday, between noon and one, bringing Bobby back from his eye doctor's appointment, the only place I could find to park was on the 600 block of Barracks Street.
I got up early this morning to move it closer and found it gone.
Now, who steals a Scion?!
Right ... Not stolen. Towed.
It seems a movie or television crew of some sort was doing a bit of filming last night and had our baby towed. Not moved around the corner like they tell you they will do, but towed by the City.
I swear there were no signs posted when we parked the car.
The cab driver told us on the way to the auto pound that in Los Angeles, if they're going to film in somebody's neighborhood, they pay the residents for the inconvenience.
"The only reason they film on locations like here in New Orleans is so they can ride roughshod over the locals and screw 'em. Why, they were filming in my neighborhood once and told me I couldn't go to my own house. I ran over the cop who tried to stop me. They can't keep me away from my property. Sure, they arrested me, but I have my rights, goddammit."
We got the car back, of course. It only cost me $173. I guess it could have been a lot more had I decided to express my "rights".
Coming home, the only place I could find to park was on the 600 block of Barracks.
Hey, there were no signs posted.
Anyway, do you see what I mean when I tell you I have nothing to say?
My life is just a blah.