Gut Rumbles

February 17, 2006

a case of the drag-ass

Maybe I'm suffering from Post-Birthday Depression. Maybe my biorythmns are out of whack again. Maybe it's a Post Acute Withdrawal aftershock. Maybe it's something I ate in the Mexican restaurant last night.

All I know is--- I've had a real case of the drag-ass today. The blahs. The don't-give-a-shits. My body feels tired and my mind is numb.

I was hoping to see my son this week, but he never was home when I called and he never answered any of the messages I left. I'm not surprised, considering the way he disappeared during Christmas and HIS birthday, but I still get depressed when this crap happens. I'm afraid that this is one hole I'll never dig myself out of. I can't do anything about it RIGHT NOW, so I shouldn't let it eat at me, but it does.

In other news, an ugly, catty soap opera is playing backstage at the Blog Theater now, and I appear to have a featured role, although I wasn't aware that I ever auditioned for it. Well, it ain't the first time I've seen THAT happen. Still, I'm always amazed that some people have so little to worry about in running their own lives that they can find plenty of time to stir shit in somebody else's. Bejus weeps.

I did manage to haul my dragging ass to the State Patrol Office today and renew my driver's license, which expired yesterday. I opted for the 10-year extension this time and I just hope I live long enough to see THIS ONE expire. I didn't even have to take a vision test. What really surprised me was how polite and efficient everybody was. I was in and out of there in less than five minutes.

After that, I drove into Savannah for a meeting with my Personal Banker to discuss some mega-dollar, high-finance matters involving my vast investment holdings. I felt about as bright as a twenty-watt bulb during my wheeling and dealing, no doubt convincing my banker that I am a drooling cretin, but I did manage to roll my 401-K over into an IRA, which I've been meaning to do for about three years now.

Much to my surprise, I discovered that I had some after-tax money in there! I don't recall where it came from, but I moved it from my bulging stock portfolio right into my wallet before Uncle Sam discovered it and taxed it again. I also received a Happy Birthday gift certificate for a meal at The Exchange Tavern on River Street. HAH! That drive into town was worth the trip.

Now, I just want to go to sleep. I sure hope I feel better in the morning.


You need to find your local meth lab. You need a fucking boot.

Just kidding! They is the blahs. We all get 'em. Can't shake mine, actually. But will be OK.

Posted by: Velociman on February 18, 2006 01:04 AM

Maybe not the time to say it, due to "blahs" n stuff, but it really just CHAPS MY ASS every time I read of the B.C.'s lack of proper parental skills, particularly common courtesy, and the behoovement to enlighten one's children to "acknowledge thy FATHER"!
My (first) X and I didn't see eye to eye on many things, and we knew stayin' married would be a baaaaad thang. However, both of my boys ALWAYS sent "Father's Day", "Happy Birthday", etcetera, greetings. Was the RIGHT thing for me to promote.
Too bad that BITCH can't see beyond her own (twisted,and selfish) attitude.
Don't be depressed, hun. He WILL, in time, "see" things in the right light.

Posted by: Lil Toni on February 18, 2006 01:32 AM

Yes, the State Ptrol in Sprinkin is MUCH better than Dean Forrest. Sorry about the drama, from the BC as well as blog theater.

Posted by: Steph on February 18, 2006 03:26 AM

... three days of rain up here... I got the "blahs" bigtime... that's why I'm reduced to writing about hippos....

Posted by: Eric on February 18, 2006 08:58 AM

Don't die! Don't die, Cracker! Perhaps you

should tell me where your GIANT pile of

loot is, in case you should die? Don't die!

(Don't, die, you sob.)

Posted by: TomCat on February 18, 2006 08:58 AM

I was stunned at how nice the DMV people were down here. Back in MA those staffers were such bitches. They look at you like you're dog poop on the bottom of their shoe and they're just disgusted they have to waste their time dealing with you. Not like our tax dollars were paying their salaries or anything.
As far as Quinton, looks the poor kid is caught between a bitch and a hard place. I'm thinking once you hit the six month mark on sobriety, you could probably get court ordered visitation. It's probably the only way to get the BC to do her job as a "mother" and I use the term loosely.

Posted by: Libby on February 18, 2006 11:14 AM
Post a comment

*Note: If you are commenting on an older entry, your
comment will not appear until it has been approved.
Do not resubmit it.