Does it ever seem to you that a whole lifetime can go by in a single day? Today I woke up happy. I soon got very nauseous after my first cup of coffee woke me up and I remembered I had to go into work. Thank god for cazj (pronounced k-a-juh) Friday so I could throw on a pair of jeans and dress like I was going out for bloodies and not headed to the Clown Academy where I would have another pint of my blood extracted for the corporate machine.

I got to work and oddly enough became quite tron-like as I answered questions, answered e-mails, and made meaningless small talk with colleagues who I will never speak to again once I leave this place and continue with my life in the real world. (And that will be soon, right God? Right? In a most wonderful and positive way, of course.)

Leaving the building at noon (yes, the Flintstones' work whistle is in effect here) I drove home thinking of Sartre and wondering if everybody felt as I did when they first read him. Like, yeah-- and your point is? Still, there is always gratification in reading another's voice and resonating in their truths as being your experience. (Or maybe that's just a Gallic gene thing-- but has anyone else noticed how many more parentheses I use when buzzed?) But as I paused on my way home to get some groceries (I've been away for a week-- there isn't anything in my fridge, remember?) I traced the path I walked away from cher Jean-Paul. Yes, I can get extremely bummed out about the pointlessness of life. Yes, I can look down from a plane at 30,000 feet cruising altitude and see that humans are an infestation worse than termites, worse than carpenter ants. But, why dwell on it? (And probably not a good idea to mention it to your husband since he will give you that LOOK, where you know he isn't always so comfortable with your cold, analytical mind). That was how I broke it off with J-P and my other boyfriend Albert C. It can't possibly help. If it's all in my head anyway, why not fill my head with whipped cream, Owen Wilson, and Survivor?

Can you see where I'm going with this? (If you can, don't up your prescription, the drugs are working). Right into my kitchen where I pulled the legs off a rotisserie chicken happy again. (Is there a theme here? home = happy, work = angst + emptiness) My beloved T, ever my emotional counterpart was also clearly in an existential funk. No words were exchanged for me to make this deduction-- one of the many secret powers of the long-married. I told him he should go to Smeg. (Smeg = camp in Maine that T and 3 of his buddies from college built that now has cabin, pond, sauna, etc-- it is his nirvana. And no, I'm not going to explain the name, but maybe someday on another drunken post). So he went to Smeg taking the butterscotch boys (who I miss as I write this).

So as I pulled out of the driveway to head back to Clown Academy, T pulled out and headed to Smeg.

Back at the Academy, I dealt with still more insanity (lots and lots of clowns climbing in and out of VWs), but now, I was simply numb and automan-like as opposed to tron-like. Then, and this was huge, just as I had some numbnut Director of Marketing in my office blathering about some such shit I got an IM from Wee. And suddenly, my third world (blog life) crashed in on the two-dimensional world of the Academy. Thank you, Wee. Have I told you lately that I love you?

I left the building at 5:23 in a torrent of rain. Got home at 5:25. My very quiet home minus T and the puppies who are no longer puppies but I can call them puppies if I want. So feck off.

Poured a large glass of chilled Rodney Strong chardonnay-- odd since
a) I drink red wine
b) T doesn't drink white wine
c) I don't know how it got into our fridge but am glad it did
d) I generally don't drink alone

came into the nook and checked some e-mail and lo and behold-- the BLOG WORLD-- that world that this morning in my Sartre-unrosy-glasses looked like so much distraction from the reality that life is just so fucked up--had a serious party going on! Thank you amazing people who left me comments of support and smart advice-- do you know how totally you rock?

Right now? I have Franz Ferdinand blasting and am burning with a new love-- who knew chardonnay could be so good and bring the buzz on so swiftly? (And Franz Ferdinand?-- oh my GOD total teenage hot sick fucklust). Speaking of Franz F-- does anyone else hear "Hava Nagila" (sp?) in the guitar riff on "the dark of the matinee"? Whatever.

I'm drunk. I love this band. Life is just not to be understood. It is to be driven at 80 miles an hour down a snowy hill with lots of curves.

got 2 cents?