Eviction Notice: Stabby McStoneful

Bright and early tomorrow morning, I will be liberated from the wretched gallbladder that has held me hostage under its reign of terror - and indigestion - for the last month or so: Stabby McStoneful. I've named her (yes, her) Stabby McStoneful for two reasons:

The Accidental Food Drive

One of the many routine emails I get every day is the daily digest of my local freecycle listserv. I’ve never given anything away or received anything through the listserv, but I like to keep an eye out for stuff like free TVs and furniture. (Don’t laugh – it happens.) The other day I opened the digest email and saw the usual offerings of baby toys and requests for computer tables. Just as I was about to close the email and hit "Delete," one message stood right up and punched me straight in the heart:

Holy Religious Education, Batman! You Want Me to Do WHAT???

Since their tender Pre-K years, El and Em have enjoyed going to Faith Formation classes at our church. (For you old-school Catholics, Faith Formation = CCD. For you Protestants, Faith Formation = Sunday School. For you of non-Christian upbringing, apply the analogous term of your understanding and we’ll call it a day.) The chid’rens eagerly carry their little folders to class, they learn some Catholic stuff, and then they happily emerge from the Religious Education building and proudly show us whatever religious artsy-craftsy thingy they made that day. They ask us if we can go straight to the Dairy Freeze across the street from the church, then they get all pouty and defiant when we inform them we are going to Mass before we even discuss lunch plans, you should have eaten your breakfast like we told you to, now is your chance to pee because we will NOT let you go during Mass, and don’t you roll your eyes at me, Young Ladies!

Every. Single. Week.

When Mid 20th Century Absurdist Theater Makes Perfect Sense

Wayyyyy back in my days as an English major, one of my favorite plays I was forcedto had the opportunity to study was Waiting for Godot. For the uninitiated: It’s pronounced “GUH-doe,” not “GO-DOT,” as I firmly believed for the first half of the semester before the class started discussing it. Anywho, Didi and Gogo are two friends who are anxiously awaiting the arrival of some dude named Godot. The whole play is about the act of waiting, which is a frustrating and futile act. I could go in to a full literary analysis at this point, but that’s not what this post is about. Besides, I’m too lazy to go study the play again. The whole reason I’m bringing it up here is because ever since my long-past days of believing the ability to write critical literary essays would get me somewhere in life (haha), Godot always leaps to mind whenever I am in a prolonged state of waiting.

Sassyfats vs. the Existential Crisis

I've been in kind of a funk lately. Not a full-blown depression, thank God, but more of a slight off-kilterishness. You know that cart in the grocery store with the one wonky wheel? You can maneuver it through the store and get your shopping done, taking refuge in fleeting moments of joy as you notice that Oreos and dish soap are on sale. But it takes some extra effort to shove the cart down the aisles in a straight enough motion to keep the cart from crashing into fellow shoppers and displays of stacked soup cans. Well I've been shoving my wonky-wheeled self through the grocery store of life lately, making it through each day with a vague sense of exhausted frustration.