The Story So Far

So, we love AMANDA PALMER. We're delirously happy for HUSSEIN OBAMA. We're struck by how awesome the Samsung OMNIA works/looks\and seems. We say "appears" because we know there are other attributes and even "down sides" to this latest clever communication/personal organization device, that haven't been brought to the fore by the independent reviewers and even the Samsung/Verizon advertising, promoting-PUSHING-interactive sites.(And you think they would let us know all they can. They have a device. It's clam dever. They want to make money. Why do they hold back?)
THERE ARE BOOKS to be had...and February seems to be the month...it holds terror and pleasure. Sadness in that it is the month which hides deep the sorrow and pain of those who have passed on and reminds us virulently that winter is biting down hard and is a bit reluctant for spring to take over. Book releases. International Pen Show in Los Angeles (actually in Manhattan Beach). Books on Hunter Thompson and by others will arrive. Hold on to your book store gift cards. Don't cash them in just yet. Pen show at a bad time once again. We've no money and one must arrive there with CASH to get purchases of really cool things. But bills are due and can you log in today and still get the day off and will you be able to use Sick Pay to fill the hours for that one day off of your week? Can you still get paid? Wouldn't that be NICE! But, February, viewed from here, though only a few days away, seems like an eternety off of the map of following time we have to pass to get to.
Bills are due. Bills are due. We sing their sad refrain. We have, ah-yes, the taxes due as well. Another bill. But what we have to pay will play well if we don't have money in the account when the accounting is made. How to deal. How to figure. We can't. We have to have the flux capacitor full to run forwards and backwards in time, and it will only be at the stroke of the right moment, wherein we'll be able to hook up with the line that allows us to pay off what we have to pay off, and sail on from there to freedom of other things.
We're struck by the allure of shirts, watches, shoes. Where does all this crap come from? We have stuff galore. We have no room for it. Why must we be victim to its thrall? Why can't we get rid of it? Why can't we, sit in our chairs and read the damn books and magazines we have stacked up everywhere, and why can't we be satisfied with the time pieces and fully ridiculously stacked piles of clothing and footware we have teetering/tottering all around us, in this, their ever-accumulating dust-ridden space here in Shell City?
Our throat is limned with scum and we scrum like werewolves trying to clear it, making it sore. It is in pain in the morning and again at night. Why? Snoring? Sleep Apnea? Found a dentist yesterday on line nearby who treats (Non-surgical methods!) just this type of thing...was looking for a TM center. Many eons ago there weren't any in the O.C., now there's one, just down the road as it were. About time! We need to learn to chill. Get the right mixture of herbalistics and action of inaction of meditation; tai chi chuan, and yoga. That and all the while, all along the way, writing...oh, goodness, please: WRITING. Writing stories. Publishing them, and being happy...oh yes, and getting a new job this year in addition to writing, right? And NOT having something untoward happen that derails and in general does not allow us to move on like we should. Into the happiness center we so richly deserve. We're sick and tired of vomit central. Enough already. Time, more than high time, to move the corpus on.