Over the phone, my work friend, Kim, was quoting Ayn Rand like a chittery bad literature squirrel over a vocabulary stash.
"I think Sean's conference calls are such a bromide."
"WTF are you drinking at 8 in the morning, mountain time?"
"He is such an egoist."
"Ahhhh.. Ayn Rand."
I muted her. Ayn Rand is just the final straw. Finally.
I'm teleworking, which is just as well since I've been bathing on a 19th century schedule. I have no room to judge Kim her Ayn Randitis, not physically in my 800 square foot living space, and not culturally; I haven't turned my television off since a week ago last Thursday. I've steeped myself in the WORST SHIT the industrial age has to offer, and I'm not excluding world wars, atomic bombs and the Bee Gees.
ASIDE: Why would ANYONE get their LIPS ENHANCED? I mean unless you were BORN WITHOUT THEM…or UNLESS the surgery INCLUDED a deeper verbal component, like EXTRA SARCASM…
I think Bad Reality Shows make me feel better about living like my chickens.
Yes, I'm scoffing at women who have tan boob jobs and palatial living space while I step over dogs on my way to blow dry the ice in my toilet.
BUT I've muted the tv and select my sound track with care. Modest Mouse, L7…of course Tom Waits… Wesley Willis.
We are all suffering from single digit temperature sequestration. I've watched back to back episodes of shows that make me pine for apes. I've read an armload of good and bad books that make me pine for monkeys with typewriters.
I have not worked my dogs. Not once. THEY don't even want to go outside.
Jai is not pregnant. Sometimes I look at her and think she absorbed her puppies somewhere between my brother and his chijuajua visiting at Christmas and my third episode of Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. Too much art imitating life and too broad a definition on both, in WAY too small a space.
It's a disappointment that Jai won't be having my puppy, not any time soon. I won't lie, I cried and ate some poptarts when that Fact was established; she is, indeed, just a little fat. I love that dog and I wanted her line to continue forever. Sniff.
But it's time we both resumed running and getting back to work; back in shape and back on sheep. The weather is warming. It's finally above freezing. We are on the down hill side of winter. I'm out of poptarts, sick of indoors, and Derek has shampood and cut my hair.