Delicious Placebo

Happy Mothers Day Mommy.
Mom died in March, 1980 of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. She had serious mental illness problems (schizophrenia) and struggled for a long time to stay well enough so that she could have the children she so desperately wanted. I never really knew her. I have never really known what it was like to celebrate Mothers Day. I got her beautiful red hair, and her awful teeth. She was pretty awesome, I was told.
Here are some interesting facts about my dearly departed mother, Susan Michell
-The day she met father my she was wearing body paint.. and nothing else.  She walked into the bar where he was hanging out, it was the late 60’s early 70’s (not quite sure when they met)
-She brought bands home from bars a few times to hang out at the house.
-There is a guardrail on a section of road in Arlington that we always called “mommy’s guardrail” because of the time she ran into it while driving my sister and I to Blue Bird (daycare? preeschool?).  After she hit it, she got freaked out about the police showing up so she just the car bumper (which had fallen off) into the back seat of the car and continued to drive.

My interweb travels today have led me to thinking that my online identity has slowly ebbed over the last few years as I have stopped posting anything of substance about myself and my life.  Does anyone even care?  (that was a rhetorical question)

Here are some of the thoughts I have had lately, in no particular order, because I can’t seem to make sentences tonight.

- I don’t qualify my statements, whether written or spoken.  There just isn’t any need to say “that’s just my opinion.”  By virtue of simply being stated by me, there is an unstated expression that whatever said is my opinion. 

- I have not read my friends list stuff in about a week.  Not on purpose or by accident.. every day I have the thought “maybe I ought to read my f-list.” But, then I don’t.  I also haven’t read any of my RSS feeds.  I just don’t care much at the moment about anyone or anything.  I don’t care who’s doing what.  I generally assume that nobody cares what I’m doing.  Everything these days feels very matter-of-fact.

- I have a lot of opinions and I SHOULD post more.  I renewed my domain and got myself a better host so that I could restart my blog (along with uploading all of the old posts I have archived from various other online journal thingies) 

- It doesn’t matter if my opinions are “out there” because, once again, everything feels very matter-of-fact and I assume nobody cares to know what I think.  Making a thought permenant by posting it somewhere doesn’t make it true, doesn’t change anything about that thought in my own head, and just generally doesn’t seem to have any kind of effect on the universe.  I’m not even sure it would make me feel better or feel justified by having others agree with me.

- I’m a fascinating person, probably.

- If I could muster any kind of sticktuitiveness then other people might know how fascinating I am.  I could probably make money some day with my life story; not because it’s the most interesting story in the world, but because people are totally into reality as entertainment.

- I am both loathsome AND jealous of blogs that chronicle the details of people’s everyday life.  I wish I had it in me to post every day about what I did, and what I thought about what I did.  At the same time though, who really cares if I got mad while I was driving to work?

There’s a ton more in my head tonight but I only have 45 minutes left at work and I want to indulge in more reading on the interwebs.