I heard on the radio today that folks were lining up outside of a local Hostess outlet store. They wanted Twinkies. They wanted to buy Twinkies and sell them on ebay. There was talk about who would eat The Last Twinkie.
As much as I love Twinkies, I would rather have heard more information about Benghazi and the mysterious lies that surround the deaths of four Americans. I wonder if we will ever know the truth. I worry that we won’t. I worry that truth doesn’t matter anymore.
But I’ve been in that kind of mood this past week, worrying about things. My beloved old printer has died (after time-consuming paper jams and driver updates), my computer has crashed, my backup software and back up hard drive have been unavailable, my internet inoperable. Things I’ve ordered have been shipped in error, coupons don’t work, communication–by email or telephone or in person–is disjointed at best. I have cried more this week than I have in three years. There have been so many strange little things that have gone wrong, day after day. I have a strange earache; I smacked my forehead into the glass table by my bed yesterday morning while trying to get up. I had a weird allergic reaction to coconut oil. Banjo Man is afraid and says I have a hex on me. He is sort of not kidding.
The paring knives and scissors are off limits. Seriously.
I stay holed up in my office and look forward to Thanksgiving.
My Writer Friend Sharon says this is astrological, something to do with something in “retrograde”, that it will continue for three weeks. I hope like hell she is wrong. But she gave me some dark chocolate-cream cheese-raspberry brownies today, along with the astro-info.
And they were better than Twinkies.