An Irresponsible Train Wreck in Cotton Pants

I'm getting a little frantic now. All day Sunday, and even now at 2 something on Monday morning I am unable to get online. I fear this is due to a combination of outdoor cats messing around under the trailer and the fact that we had some rain Saturday. Some rain, big deal, right? Wrong. The phone line has been so static-buzzy ever since it rained, that even my daughter doesn't want to talk. I understand completely... it's hard to hear over the buzzing (which is annoying as hell in it's own right) and neither of us likes to shout our conversation.

The modem is still trying to connect, and it is making more progress than this afternoon, but still no go. I'm thinking that I'm going to have to put this onto a memory stick and post it from the library when I get up and make it out of the house... ya know, whenever the hell that'll be. I'm not huge on early mornings right now unless they are left over from not going to bed the night before.

So, with the phones being nearly unusable and not being able to get online, I'm not exaggerating when I say that I'm feeling very cut-off from the world. Stuck here in my back room with no way to connect to civilization. Hubby and Turbo Tot passed out at this late hour. I suppose I could go 5 miles down the road to the Shell station and strike up some sort of conversation with the counter person, but that would be fairly strange, and probably get me introduced to the cop working the night shift.

*sigh* There really is no help for loneliness out here. Hell, even the cows are asleep at 2:30. So are the chickens (did I tell y'all that another one has adopted us?)... and every other respectable human being for miles. I am all alone. Which would be fine if I could check my email or turn up the TV loud enough to hear it over the newly cleaned box fans. Funny how it gets harder to hear the TV late at night, almost like your ears have turned against you. I remember in the not-so-long-ago when the TV seemed to get louder the later it got and I'd find myself turning it down so low that when I turned it back on later in the day, only dogs could hear it.

Speaking of TV, I was watching the Farrah thing on Friday night and aside from the sadness of the whole situation, it struck me that I totally owned the Jill Monroe doll cause she was my favorite Charlie's Angel, (Chris and everyone else that tried to fill the Jill shoes were total imposters) and holy shit, the woman's dying (Ryan O'Neal is still an overacting sanctimonious twit), and Jill Monroe was 32 years ago! 32 Years People! That's like forever ago. That's Steve Austin and Jamie Summers ago... For.Ev.ERRR.

I read blogs written by people that haven't even gotten that old yet. Seriously, do I need to cash in my wheelchair coupons (or is a Hover Round more convenient, Sonny?) and get a Miracle Ear? When did I get this old? When did I become (ominous music DuhDuh Duhhhhhh) ~the adult in the room? When did I turn into the one with the kids in school that's supposed to cook Sunday dinners and appear to have her life together and seem stable?

When? Who's responsible for this grievous mistake. Cause I'm not. At all. I'm an irresponsible train wreck in cotton pants. I haven't managed a consistent tradition ever. I don't do anything special for Sunday dinner that I wouldn't do any other night of the week. And I don't live close enough to my family to have them come over for it if I did. There's no 'same-house-until-the-mortgage-is-paid-off' home front. Hell, my kids consider stable, being in the same dwelling for three years, never mind thirty.

And while I freely admit that I may be worse than some, I know that I'm not entirely alone in this. Sad thing is, now that I am *ahemOLDERahem* I miss all those things. It was up to me to keep them going and I dropped the ball. I'm not sure if it was sheer laziness or not being aware that it was being handed to me in the first place. Because I'm not an age conscious or age phobic person at all, but sometimes, when I do the math and things strike me ~ like Jill Monroe being 32 years ago ~ I'm genuinely surprised.

This year will be my high school reunion, and I JUST NOW realized it's the 20th reunion!!! Aaaakkkk!!! And that's not aaakkk as in OMG I am not almost 40. It's aaakkk as in OMG, where did the time go? Keyport just won state and thigh-length jean jackets were just cool. When did my life get hijacked? I haven't accomplished anything I'd planned on... Oh wait, I didn't plan much of anything, which may well have been the problem. Cause one day I was waking up to Fine Young Cannibals and Lita Ford, and now I'm wishing I could hear the TV without waking up everyone in the house at 3am. And it just doesn't seem... SOOO long ago even if it was. I remember when the song Major Tom was on MTV, now it's on a car commercial.

I need a glass for my teeth and a cane ~ that way I could thwomp people that piss me off with my cane. I'll be able to because in a blink I'll be 50 and if I swallow my breath mint I'll be 60 and if I take the time to try to see my butt in a mirror, I'll bypass 70 altogether and be 80. and if you make it to 80 you should totally be allowed to thwomp people with canes especially if you see them wandering around with their heads up their asses.

But of course, then we'd have two different viewpoints about what constitutes grounds for a cane thwomping which would lead to two 85 year old women thwomping each other which will get caught by some teenager in LA on his 'camera earring' and he'll pitch it to FOX, and we'll have a new reality show, "Octogenarian Cane Wars". Which will get boring after they decide that the ones that need the most thwompings are the politicians and then they'll just start stalking politicians... throwing out a decoy 70 year old while the 80 year olds hide in the bushes to give Mr. Politician-Man a cane thwomping and it'll get twittered and blogged and...

OK... I'm starting to scare myself. Obviously, I need to get some sleep now.