Feast or famine. Haven't I already stared one blog saying that? I'll let you go through the archives. Let me know what you find. Those of you who observant enough know that yesterday's video was a repeat. What can I say, I like the bunny. Something about the poor little guy makes me smile. I'm a sucker for a sad sexless bunny. Ok, that just sounds weird. Back to feast or famine. I could repeat the "1,2,3,4" video and call it "Fiest or Famine," or do a dark opera and go with "Foust or Famine."
See? I knew you'd like feast. So, as I was saying…
Feast or famine. Last week was Thanksgiving, that's sure to be a feast. This weeks supposed to be famine, right? Please tell the powers that be that for me. I've been busy. For a guy without a life, I'm quite the bee of contention. Somebody get me a bonnet! I've been buzzing on the phone with my broken treadmill people, and wing-winding house fires right and left. Man! The if the key to not thinking about your divorce is keeping busy, why am I writing about my divorce now? Oh yeah, it's what keeps me busy. I'm so glad I love irony. Bring me another plateful, please….
So I've got to call Sears service again. I need to try and talk them into sending me a circuit board sans repairman. It'll save me about $150 to do it myself, and the board is covered under warranty. I'm sure they're charge me for shipping, but that's just one of the joys of dealing with those people.
See? Busy. So because I'm busy and lazy (or you can pick your favorite excuse, I'm also flexible, not gymnast flexible, more concept flexible. I'm also distractible, where was I? Oh yeah) I thought I'd rehash yesterday's post. A friend of mine emailed me about the "Divorced" vs. "Single" thing. I figured since I'm so busy I'd just cut and paste plagiarize and call it a blog. So when you see phrases like "twitching demise," that's him not me. Oh I wish I'd said it, but no. I'll give him the point. He's also one divorce up on me: he's not only winning, he's a trained expert in all things unwed.
He's also more bitter than I am—or he was. No, my bitter river hasn't risen, his has finally flushed his into the ocean. It's been a while though. Some of the stuff going on between him and his ex was pure acid. Some divorces are like that. Mine is the great shrug, his was head spinning pea soup spitting evil. I'm so glad to see he's gotten exorcise. He came out a moth ago and flirted with a waitress. I smiled. Good for him.
He wrote me today about my blog yesterday. I'd whined about filling in marital status forms. (man, the things I complain about….call me Ishmael. Or just bitter old man. Not as poetic, but definitely more accurate. I'm dealing with a white elephant, not white whale.) He said that single or divorced is all about how we define ourselves, and not how society defines us. He reminded me that Divorce was a verb. It's an action that happens to you, and not a adjective: a way of modifying the noun, Rob. It's not who I am, but just something that happened. I was in an accident once, but that doesn't mean you call me "Car crash" Rob. Ok, if you know me well enough, you may still call me that, but that's beside the point. Divorce doesn't need to define me. When the action is done, I can check single, because I will be.
That's today's blog. Brought to you by my less-than-busy "single" friend, coming to a waitress near you. If you've got the feast, he's got the famished.
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