I am all kinds of foul today. Foul of mood and foul of spirit and foul of body and foul of soul. I�m practically homicidal. Which is all to say, I am much improved since yesterday! The weather is so fine, but I can�t get myself happy just yet. If my damned body would just settle the fuck down, well then, maybe. You know, you�d think me and my body would have come to some kind of understanding after twenty years of this battle of wills (that means this is about the 250th time give or take that we�ve been through this already. Why does it always turn in me into a miserable wretched unwholesome pain and whine machine? And then there�s the day I feel like I�m on drugs, wading through jello all day long. That�s today. I�m the jello monster. I hate today.)

I don�t know what�s happening with the punctuation or the notion of linear thought. Oh well. Let�s be neopostmodern feminist writers today, yeah?

Jeff has fallen into the full-fledged Alias addiction that I succumbed to last weekend. The thing that�s tripping us both up a bit is that this is not a good show, not even remotely. But for stressed-out paperwork avoiders who have, as a result of said paperwork avoidance, discovered how truly awful their credit scores are (just for paperwork reasons! Just for sheer hatred of paperwork! Arrrrrrghmffafda), Alias is the perfect escape. For all the exciting spy action happening on screen, nothing much ever actually happens in the Alias world. Each episode has exactly the same arc as the previous episode and thus, the show presents the quite comforting non-reality of absolute predictability. Which is good when the real world is constantly threatening to come crashing down around your ankles. The show is pure stupid goodness.

Today is me brother�s birthday. He is 24. His name is Joe. I must remember to call him. I totally forgot Oliver last month. I need to be reprogrammed.

Jeff and I were playing the game, Favorite Ramseurian, on the way in. Here's who made the cut:

1. The Vietnam vet who stands by the side of the road all day long in his fishing hat staring at all the drivers going by.

2. The old farmer fella who walks down Ramseur-Julian road waving to every single car that drives by.

3. The very efficient and friendly gay checkout boy at the grocery store. They just promoted him. I�m so pleased.

4. Mike, the morning Tank and Tummy worker. I like to say, have a nice day, just like he does. Sooooooo laid back he�s almost sleeping. Jeff told him about Sister and asked if he�d heard of anyone missing a dog and he hadn�t but he did say that he one time was up to 17 cats because people kept dumping them at his house. Godblesshim.

5. Amy, daughter-in-law of Mr. Brown. She talks more than I have ever heard anyone talk ever but she is totally cool and she loves her kids like a momma should. Her boys (aged 10 and 12 or thereabouts) are about as beautiful as two young fellas can be.

6. All the waitresses at our favorite Mac�s Anytime Breakfast place even though they are Asheboroans, not Ramseurians. I still love them and they still count. They are pure southern efficiency and love.

7. The crazy lady in the purple house jacket, waving her arms and shouting every morning outside her brick house.

8. Mr. Brown

And then Jeff said he wanted to stop playing. At which point I sighed and muttered spoilsport under my breath and so Jeff pulled my library book out of my bag and made to toss it out of the window of the truck which I was driving so that we were barrelling down the road at approximately 75 miles an hour so of course I grabbed his phone (oh his precious phone) and rolled down my window and then he said uncle.

Just remember, little children, I. always. win.

Except in chess and backgammon and skipping contests.

I been listening to Mr. Bruce Springsteen (surprise surprise) over here. He�s pretty much god's gift to me.

Well now on a summer night in a dusky room
Come a little piece of the Lord's undying light
Crying like he swallowed the fiery moon
In his mother's arms it was all the beauty I could take
Like the missing words to some prayer that I could never make
In a world so hard and dirty so fouled and confused
Searching for a little bit of God's mercy
I found living proof

I put my heart and soul I put 'em high upon a shelf
Right next to the faith the faith that I'd lost in myself
I went down into the desert city
Just tryin' so hard to shed my skin
I crawled deep into some kind of darkness
Lookin' to burn out every trace of who I'd been
You do some sad sad things baby
When it's you you're tryin' to lose
You do some sad and hurtful things
I've seen living proof

You shot through my anger and rage
To show me my prison was just an open cage
There were no keys no guards
Just one frightened man and some old shadows for bars

Well now all that's sure on the boulevard
Is that life is just a house of cards
As fragile as each and every breath
Of this boy sleepin' in our bed
Tonight let's lie beneath the eaves
Just a close band of happy thieves
And when that train comes we'll get on board
And steal what we can from the treasures of the Lord
It's been a long long drought baby
Tonight the rain's pourin' down on our roof
Looking for a little bit of God's mercy
I found living proof

That�s the song on repeat over here.

I say! Friends! If you were making a tape of the best best Bruce Springsteen songs, what would you include? That�s what I�d like to know.

I must must have Born in the USA (which I�ve missed so long�No Surrender! I�m Goin Down! I�m On Fire (sometimes it�s like someone took a knife, baby, edgy and dull and cut a six inch valley through the middle of my skull)). I need it right now. This was my very first tape I ever owned all for myself. Fifth grade. I took it with me to the birthday slumber party the sidekick of the popular girl who hated me invited me to (did you follow that? Lemme break it down, y'all. I was always friends with the sensitive sidekick to the mean popular girl. The mean popular girl always still hated me. I can't remember this one's name except that her last name was Boone, which I remember because she was a descendent of Daniel Boone) and I think I had to leave early for some reason or another but I remember being relieved because I was scared about the dance competition that they were planning. That's what the tapes were for. And of course I brought BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN to a teeny bopper dance contest slumber party for fifth grade girls. Nobody had ever heard of him. My title of Biggest Loser in Fifth Grade remained unchallenged.

Ok, this has really gone on long enough. Apologies. Bye.