Back Burner Boil

I did well yesterday. Very well, in fact. Enough to put a gold star on my forehead today. I went out THERE for 3 hours – three whole hours – and never bit my tongue. I never even felt annoyed at anyone. I also didn’t stop writing.

Waiting for the metro. On the metro. In the stations. Up the escalator. Down the street. In the shops. There wasn’t a single place I could go where my head wasn’t narrating some epic scene. Popped into my favorite coffeeshop for about half an hour and took advantage of sitting and a table in front of me. Out came the notebook and pen. Scribble, scribble. Strike out. Notes climbing up the sides of the paper like word ladders. The experience certainly reminded me why I now get so much done on my computer. It’s faster. And far neater. There was a time I found a blank screen on my computer intimidating. Now I’d rather face that blank screen than have to pick up a pen and later unravel my own spider-crawl writing. What a mess.

And I wrote my novel long-hand!

Ah, well, you won’t catch me at that again.

More social commentary. Good goddess, I had no idea I had so much to say about society. So much to say about PEOPLE. I get so wound up at times that the only thing that comes out of my mouth is ‘morons’ and curse words. Sure as hell never thought I’d be writing insightful stories, breaking people down into two sentences that smack the truth over your head with a quick slap, slap on either cheek. Of course, this is manic me talking. No one’s published yet. No one may ever publish my stuff. So who the fuck am I to say it’s good? It could be shit, yes, it could. I don’t believe it today, thank you. Try me again tomorrow.

Okay, embarrassing confession coming up. Everybody turn away.

I queefed yesterday in public. Full out fart coming up the alleyway and getting an extra phfft from my labia. It was LOUD, too. I hope my cough, which generated the fucking thing in the first place, covered up most of it. For fuck’s sake! For a moment I thought Terrance and Philip from South Park were going to make an entrance. I mean, that’s a new one for me. I’ve got to age where I let my farts go if I need to and to hell with where I am. I try to be discrete, try to only let them fly when I’m away from other people. But sometimes they just slip out (and yes, a part of me is a little afraid of becoming my dad in this; he farted every time he walked). Yesterday it happened in the coffeeshop with about a dozen people as witnesses. SOoooooooo very happy they were all toking up. Maybe if they heard it they thought they imagined it.

My farting gives me pause. If I’m farting this much, how much more is my obese sister farting at this point? She liked to take it up the ass, too. I can’t help but think that served to loosen up her anus even more. She must be a farting machine. lol! Well, that gives me something to chuckle about. Farting too much would be exactly the type of thing she’d never mention, even to her doctor. It wouldn’t fit her perfectly coifed and manicured life. Ha!

Alright. Enough with the farting.

It’s Sunday, a lazy day in any language. Seems the whole world gets a little quieter on Sundays. Dawn breaks a little later, the birds sing a little softer. It’s a recurring pause in our timeline, a point for tidying up last week’s mess and preparing for the days ahead. I got a lot of mess to clean up. And I’m not sure what I’m prepping for. So Sundays can get confusing for me. I can feel a little like an old record stuck in a groove. TV reruns. News re-caps. Oh, please! You can’t tell me nothing happens on Sundays. Still, there it is, every damned Sunday: the week in review. Look at all the violence shoved into one three minute montage. This week the focus is on the sea of immigrants coming to the EU. Yeah, like I said: I catch the news whether or not I want to. So I’ve seen the pictures. I’ve heard about the video of the drowned child. I’ve listened to what the politicians are saying, both the excuses and the accusations. I can no longer say nothing about it. While politics are politics and I refuse to make this blog into a political arena, the situation is encroaching on daily life and thus it IS affecting me, in many ways. And, as usual, I can see both sides of this fence with equal clarity and reason. On the one hand, you have this huge humanitarian crisis. The people risking their lives to get to the EU do so because it’s less a risk than staying in their own country. I think people should stop and give that some thought. Mothers and fathers are risking their children’s lives to get here because it’s LESS a risk walking hundreds of miles or getting crammed into the back of a truck or getting on that overcrowded, leaky old boat than it is to stay. It’s the better fucking option, even if they do die along the way. These people need help, not aggression. On the other hand, this problem is HUGE. Everything carries a price, like it or not, and few of the EU countries involved have a solid financial foothold in the world. Greece is drowning. She may never recover. Hope if you wanted to see Greece, you had your chance. She’s dying and will never be the same. And the infighting! This has reignited those age old adversities between England and France, Germany and Europe, Germany and France. The small kids – Greece, Ireland, Portugal – are going DOWN, people. Good-bye. Not going to survive this. England is doing what England always has; addressing the entire situation with a haughtiness born of empire and never fully beaten out of them.

The EU may crack over this.

I, for one, would be sad to see it happen. Cohesiveness without absolute uniformity IS possible. What I don’t understand is how so many insufferable politicians have managed to secure seats in the EU parliament. Mary Harney from Ireland was a horrible health administer; under her rule millions were wasted building facilities that then lay unstaffed and dormant. She was also the one that got called to task for flying to France to get her hair done – on tax payer’s money. Yet despite all this, she sits in EU parliament serving as CHAIR for European Steering Group on Sustainable Health. Un-fucking-believable. If ya let eejits like her in, no fucking wonder everything is in such a goddamn mess. Bleh. Someday there will be a new story, and Mary Harney will serve as fuel for it.

If I ruled absolute, first thing I’d do would be boring, boring, boring. I’d modify ALL accounting standards across the board. Wipe the slate clean. Make everyone go back to solid, basic accounting principle. Honestly, the rules have become as convoluted as tax law. And about as logical. They were designed that way. So, out with all that. Get back to what we really need to know: CASH FLOW. Not the cash flow offered by accountants these days. REAL cash flow. Real money doing real things. Yes, some of the pretend money flow is valuable information. Depreciating large assets over time not only helps track the value of the assets, it also helps track regular maintenance AND replacement needs. But that shit should be put on a separate page and not integrated AT ALL in the main bulk. It’s not real; don’t fucking include it. There’s plenty of comedic scenes built on people not really knowing how much money they have. Just watched one last night in an Ab Fab episode (Season 2, Poor). Funny, yes. Very real, too. Claiming “invested” money as cash equivalents is ludicrous. Unless you cash them out right then and there the numbers are MEANINGLESS. Keep them off the report, too. And the will-o-the-wisp nothings that financial wizards whip up over night to become the next hot thing to make money on should just be illegal. Full stop. Banks would get their balls snipped and have to go back to being banks, not investment houses. Banks would have extreme regulation, as a matter of fact. No more taking money on both ends to fatten their own pockets. Nope. You earn money the old fashioned way. Worked for a fucking long time. Trickle down economics just let the bear loose. Now we’ve got a really BIG, fat and ANGRY bear to deal with. Shoot the motherfucker. And yeah, 1%. You’d go back to your 50% tax rate and you’ll like because there will be nowhere else to go. Really sorry that you have to give up that golden back scratcher this month, and really sorry that your single master goldsmith won’t get his commission. But that money will feed thousands and fix vital railways and provide wells for water and education for kids. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.

*shudder* Sorry. I was just channeling the spirit of the accountant/financier/economist in me.

I guess with all this spilling out of me I shouldn’t be so surprised at the nature of my stories right now. There’s a lot going on with that back burner right now.