I am not actually drunken nor am I a munchkin, if you look at the true definitions of those words. And I do love words. I love how they make you think, feel, and believe, things that are true or untrue. I love stringing words and emotions together to form a quilt of comfort and fantasy. Warming you with truths and lies.
Though in fact I do drink, sometimes a lot, and I am in fact quite short in stature. And I do write, mostly at night when I am, angry, outraged or aghast at what has transpired during my daily life. Hence a blog…a platform for all the rhetoric that would otherwise be stuck in my brain and prevent me from sleeping. And lately I do love sleep.
I never appreciated it, sleep that is. I was afraid I would miss something. From my youthful years reading under the covers with a flashlight, to the sophomoric wanderings of young adulthood that kept me out in clubs gallivanting with friends and in hot pursuit of Mr. Right. I never wanted to sleep.
Now, well into my 50’s, I simply cannot get enough of my bed. I lounge in it long after I wake. I languish in the well-worn linens. It is difficult to rise from its fluffiness. Sometimes, during the day I even think I hear my pillows calling me home for a nap. I am very tired at this point in my life and I need sleep. No more all-nighters for this gal. Unless I am on a tear about something. Then I just must stay awake and write.
It is then that I don the super hero cape of the “Drunken Munchkin”. It is then that I must remember to hit, save to draft, instead of send, thus preventing me from offending the entire world or maybe just a sister or two. I come from a big family, a family who went/still goes to the library. A family that knew getting lost in a book was just as good if not better than seeing the movie. A real family, with good values and a penchant for knowledge, because knowledge made us feel better about ourselves.
Now, some days I do not feel so good about myself. Life has hit me hard and I have taken to numbing the pain with a bit too much beer ,and way too many cigarettes, but always after my work is done, my responsibilities attended to, my laundry folded and my child in bed.
This is the bullshit you will be treated to here, my bullshit. My rants, raves, craves and cranks. All finely crafted and embellished. Full poetic license taken. So, enjoy and feel free to comment. I do love a late-night argument!
And if you want to hate me even more… take note that not only am I frivolous with the comma, and I am prone to the perpetual overuse of the word AND, but I also live on a tropical island. Yes, it is nice, warm, sunny, with beautiful beaches AND fabulous scenery everywhere. And I get to surf as well as drink frosty beers in the middle of the day, or for breakfast if I want to. Amazing people and experiences abound…but wait.
I make tacos here. That’s right, tacos and burritos. I have my own business the worst type of business, a restaurant I run it with my super handsome life partner. Still sounding good? Think again my friends, challenges do abound. My partner and I work together 24/7. Oh, and then my fucking employees, constantly irritating me, with stupid questions, “Yes we still have to triple wash the lettuce.” Or the coke distributor not having coke a cola this week. Perhaps no sour cream is available on the whole island for a month. We are constantly bombarded with people saying, “You know what you should do?” No, but what you should do is get your own taco shop and do that yourself. And to top it all off, the phone and internet service is sketchy at best.
OK, enough about me. Well never actually enough about me, hence the self- promoting blog. But I do welcome you to submit your own bullshit here as well. We are all just doing the best we can. AND somebody out there might just want to listen, even glean a bit of insight from our thoughts.