You load sixteen tons and what do you get


OMG. I was looking over the Vomitola archives recently, and I ran across a To Do list I wrote last year around this time. Have I accomplished anything in a year? NO!

Well, that’s not true. I finished the wedding thank you notes*. I also have several great jobs, like a Jamaican, but mainly I describe myself as a “consultant” or a “woman of leisure.”

We ended up with not so much a house as a hole in the ground that we can’t live in yet, and I’ve conquered existentialism with the help of naps, pills, and new shoes. So what’s left? The book is almost done, and I have that sitcom about the out-of-work trans-Pacific** pilot written. And for dinner, we are having leftover Chinese food, so that’s covered.

I still need to do something about that fucking old 401(k), and I never filed anything. It’s all in a pile under the guest bed. I still have to do laundry and reproduce, but various factions decided I’m infertile and told folks this is why we don’t have kids yet, so maybe I am off the hook for that! Not the laundry, the reproduction. The laundry festers on, much like my barren womb.

And I realize I have a lot going for me. I have the long, graceful toes of a concert pianist, and my cat can talk. I may not have a special purpose, and one ear may be slightly higher than the other, rendering some styles of sunglasses unflattering, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a good person. I wonder what I’ll accomplish by next year? Flight? Breathing underwater? I know one thing is for sure, I’m going to work more on killing people through the Power of My Mind.

*Not quite true. I just realized we received a box of dishes a month or so ago. The note will read something like “And for an entire week, we just pulled dishes out of the box rather than run the dishwasher. Thank you!!!!”

**Transexual, too! It’s Lost meets Wings meets Amanda Lepore.

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