What if the only thing I'm truly good at is the fact that I'm not very good at anything? Why can't I get a degree in this... it could be called something like Advanced Mediocrity, or Fair to Middling Studies. Maybe it's a (completely misplaced) sense of pride, but shouldn't the ability to consistently walk that line between not being a productive member of society and not being a horribly horrible waste of space be recognized as a talent? It may be a small and shameful talent, but goddammit, it's mine.
Is it ok if I wear a teal cardigan with black track pants, the kind with a stripe down the side? I sure hope so, because that's what I wore today, and I only have the two pairs of pants so chances are good it will happen again.
Am I a bad person for wishing there was another popular poem for Remembrance Day other than "In Flanders Fields"? Don't get me wrong - I could hear that poem a bajillion times and it will still cut me to the core. It's the go-to poem for a reason. But I've heard it in English, I've heard it in French, I've heard it read dramatically, I've heard it read in the sing-song voices of schoolchildren, I've heard it set to music, and I've seen it represented in art. Can interpretive dance be around the corner? Do you suppose the veterans themselves are sick of it? Maybe we're just really annoying them. Maybe they're sick and tired of everyone quoting it to them, and they'd just like to pay their respects and go have a coffee. I'm not a monster - I just wonder if we're going to the John McCrae well a little too often.
Is it wrong that I have a list of things I would rather burn the house down than deal with? This came up the other day when I said to J that if we ever had rats, I would burn the house down. He said, "You've got to stop saying you're going to burn the house down." It's apparently my fallback plan for a number of scenarios. But considering I can't even light a birthday candle without a twenty-minute search for a barbecue lighter, I think our investment is safe.
I probably put more thought into what calendar I'm going to put on the wall in the new year than I have into the sum total of all the presents I've purchased for Christmas so far. I'm uncertain if this is a reflection on my oddly specific short-term obsessions, the depths to which I know my family and friends so that I'm able to effortlessly select winning gifts, or my general "fiddle while Rome is burning" thing. But, you guys! The wrong calendar can throw everything off! It has to be big enough to write on for all our stuff. It has to have a pleasing colour scheme so that it doesn't annoy me daily when I see it next to the fridge. It can't have questionable humour (still living down the "sarcastic captions to old-timey pictures" one that, among other things, contained some words I'd rather my kids not be sounding out). Can't be advertising something. Can't be cheap, because the pages will sag and be hard to write on and generally suck. I'm not saying it's a big decision... just that it takes a little more than randomly picking it out.
And - this is important - it has to be at least 50% off. Because who pays full price for a calendar before the beginning of the new year when they're all marked down? SUCKERS, that's who.
(I'm willing to wait for a good deal... but not too long. Last time I had to make do with the Solid Waste Authority calendar for three months before settling on the sarcastic old picture one, and we all know how that turned out.)
and finally, why didn't either of my kids get any Reese's Peanut Butter Cups trick-or-treating this year? Is errbody just giving up all pretense and keeping them for themselves now?