Other than the usual things that bother, would be thusly. I don't understand the concept behind the spelling of the word "9th". Somewhere along the line in English land, someone has changed a rule I thought I knew. Ninth Ward, Nineth Ward. I know which one I think is correct. Apparently not, though! Google it!
Who knew? I felt like such a ninny! Or is that niney? I have achieved a new disgust with my own capricious language. Colour. Centre. C'mon, who cares, then?? Afraid of freight. Brought to you by...You can't use that word without worrying someone can't read it...
a truck driver we know asked for a sticker "If you got it, a truck brought it" and I made it, KNOWING it wouldn't work. Not enough know that's a rhyme... I cannot do "brot". It's wrong.
I saw a mistake made by another sign company, they spelled "Managed" wrong. How do people do that. I didn't even mention it to the guy, hey, he had inherited my old building, when it changed Management. They can fix their own darned mis-edits.
Ah well. I fracture the language as much as I can anyway.
Here's a name of the week for ya. Richard Nice. Who would do that to their kid? Think about it. Why not Steven!? It's just not nice, impathetico. And why isn't "nice" pronounced "niss"??
Otherwise, in other news, I manged (yup, that's how it was spelllllled..) to finally get some white on the ground for Christmas. I cancelled my appointment for snow tires. The very next day we had the white stuff, thank you!! My snows are more aged than my all-seasons, from using them too long last "winter", when we had summer by March. Besides, when I have the snow power, I might as well use it. I noticed a pattern a few winters ago. Every time I washed my car, it snowed. It happened that June, too. Weird. If I don't use it up, it doesn't go away:)
Christmas comes hard for me each year, as I muddle through my middling life. I am still moved to tears by the strangest seasonal provocations, and I am mystified that "Die Hard" seems to be the current Christmas Eve afternoon TV tradition, when it should be "A Christmas Story" with my old pal Darren McGavin.
It's Christmas Eve, let's show some respect. Especially since I need to cancel my TV scrip.
Money is going to be tight for a bit, I can smell it. And will I truly miss the boob-tube? I have friends that haven't owned a TV ever. I grew up with the darn thing, being a child of the radio-active age. We started staring at about what, 5? 6? We were "well-to-do" to have a TV, I remember that. I wonder at my eyeballs, the flickering lights sure worked with me. I remember Mom didn't like how our little faces would go blank as we watched...
My resolves for 2013 are harder to come by. I will let anger pass through me. I (incredibly) did not react when a customer was extraordinarily unjustifiably rude about my right-hand-man. I bit my tongue, and sent him on his grumpy, soon to be retiring way. I am grumpy, too. But that passes. My aging processes are fascinating:) Hey, what else do I have?!
Oh, right, my surroundings, which have continued to break my heart. I am resorting to aromatherapy, so far, my nose is undecided.
Huge changes may happen in 2013. They may not. Having thirteen in the year isn't going to be pleasant for us superstitious folks. So maybe I just have to work a little harder at my own luck/fate/flip of the cards.
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| Or Stick flipping... |
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| Mildred Lorraine Macdonald. Miss ya, good girl. |
Merry Christmas, dear earth...
