My worstest enemy ever

I just got back from picking up a cherry Coke at a gas station where a sign over the register reads, “When I want your opinion I’ll give it to you.” Beneath the quote is an ape that resembles Winston Churchill on the cover of Life. I'm not positive, but I think it's supposed to insinuate that your opinion better be a good one. Or non-existent? So why is that not the take-home message that I derived? See, I have this bad habit… worse than my habit of laughing nervously when my growling stomach is louder than your voice. I rush, full throttle, to judge myself before anyone else takes advantage of that golden opportunity. The title of this post, for example. I originally had up there “Boring Updates.” Why would I do that to a potential reader, new or otherwise? By calling the minutia of my life boring, I forfeit your right to formulate your own opinion that it's boring. Minutia. See what I mean? Even Rodney Dangerfield had the good sense God gave him to blame his lack of incoming respect on the outside world. I get no respect... FROM MYSELF. Normal people say I told you so to devout Republicans and monkeys who have bumped their head after jumping on the bed. I get kicks out of saying it when someone's actions bellow, “Yeah, you’re right. You suck. And not in the good way!” I retort with an internal YESSSS! I KNEW it!! I suppose I do this to alleviate some of the sting in the event that the world outside of Catherine actually agrees with me. I'm obviously jaded... and somewhat unawares about it.

My brother called the other day and asked, “So what’s up with you and the family?” I said, “Absolutely nothing.” (LIAR, LIAR. PANTS ON GREAT BIG FIRE.) I thought he was just being nice and, so to spare him the embarrassment of snoring in my ear and drooling into a perfectly good phone, I kept the inconsequential details of my children’s minor health issues and first-day-of-school particulars to myself. But inconsequential was MY word, not his. What I did was force him to prod me for more information — "Did Jonah like his Kindergarten teacher? Toni told me that she got the wrong school supply list… she freaked out a little, didn’t she?"

I don’t have children with severe disabilities. Nobody in this house over the age of thirty-four is out of work or on the verge of being out of work. No startling deaths. No divorces or child-custody battles. No bankruptcies. Not even a burglary or action-packed drug bust to report from anywhere in my personal radar. Byt the same token, I haven't won any lotteries, nor have I rubbed elbows with big wigs or climbed Mt. Everest, last I checked... ALL the kind of activities and personal triumphs I enjoy concocting under the light of a small desk lamp when the majority of my neighborhood is fast asleep. In other words, I am currently without crisis. *she says as she knocks on wood even though she calls herself NOT superstitious* And so it just always takes me by surprise when people seem genuinely interested in the triviality of my blessedly non-dramatic life…when they don’t just pay lip service to the whole “How are you?” question.... like I do.

I kid! I kid!

SO. To those that have read this far… the updates I was talking about: Bath time last night was bleach-free. *arms raised to the heavens in exultation* Jonah has caught the bus all week long and gotten off at his correct location without a hitch. Three days into the school season and children already have freakin' colds. The leaves are definitely yellow now. And orangey. And one-by-leisurely one, starting to fall. Our mini-vacation to Durango was better than any mini-vacation in recent history. And over the next few days, I am going to be chin-deep-immersed in the only kind of drama that I care to have – the fictional kind.

I guess all this rambling was just my long-winded way of saying THANK YOU to all the people who drop by here and leave the occasional act of kindness in the form of a comment. Not only are you verifying that my cynicism is totally unsubstantiated... almost totally... but that you are all TOO COOL FOR WORDS.