10% off at pottery barn

Every once in a great while I start to care what kind of furniture I have, what I wear, how cute my kids' clothes are. I start to want, want, want. It is so easy to get wrapped up in stuff. It's the symptom of a lazy brain. Then I remember that I think it's funny that Violet will eat with a fork until you say "Hey! You're using your fork!" Then she puts it down and goes back to eating with her fingers. Who cares? Will she be eating with her hands when she's 15? Doubtful. Last time I had a pedicure? I think I was pregnant with Violet. Explain to me why either one of those things is important. I've let my mind wander toward normalcy. Whatever that may be. It seems that normalcy these days is working 8 hours at a job you either hate or can do half-conscious, spending 3 in front of the TV, off to sleep, and do it over. Every once in awhile you have sex with someone you love, or don't for that matter. How often do you make a human connection? That can wait until after Dancing With The Stars. Fuck normal. I don't use that word often. Especially not in writing. But someone save me from caring about what other people think. I don't want the hassle of normal. I want real live life. Nasty, dirty, gloriously resplendent life. My life need some pruning shears. And a wheelbarrow.


Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes made of ticky tacky
Little boxes on the hillside,
Little boxes all the same,
There's a green one and a pink one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same

And the people in the houses
All went to the university
Where they were put in boxes
And they came out all the same
And there's doctors and lawyers
And business executives
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

And they all play on the golf course
And drink their martinis dry
And they all have pretty children
And the children go to school,
And the children go to summer camp
And then to the university
Where they are put in boxes
And they come out all the same

And the boys go into business
And marry and raise a family
In boxes made of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same,
There's a pink one and a green one
And a blue one and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky tacky
And they all look just the same.

Words and music by Malvina Reynolds.Copyright 1962, Schroder Music Company



I am well aware this post was incoherent, disjointed, and probably made no sense to anyone but me. Night night.

skj