Dear Mrsatroxi,

Oh my goodness, folks.

Do any of you remember these?

(Check out that awesome 80’s dual wall oven.)

Great. Now I’m hungry for two kinds of creme filling.

Have you ever had a discussion with somebody, about some project of theirs, and you maybe point out something you don’t like about the something, and it’s a kindly thing, done for their own good, and they then proceed to snowball you with so many explanations and excuses and attitude that you feel like a complete idiot for ever opening your mouth? And then you say, fine, I’m a complete idiot, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I opened my mouth, do whatever the hell you want.

And they then proceed to get all miffed at you.

For the retraction.

I’m just curious.

‘Cause I’ve never had that happen to me.

Forgive this next post, folks. I’m not usually so Gothic and angst-ridden here. At least, I don’t think I am. Working some things out of my system, I guess. Check back later for the usual drivel. (Not that this isn’t drivel. It’s just not the usual drivel.)

There’s a secret on PostSecret this week that says, “I feel most alive when everything around me is dying.” There is an autumn leaf pasted to the card.

Isn’t everything and everyone dying around us all the time? Isn’t everything working towards death. Some more quickly than others. The fruit fly very soon. The turtle is plodding that way. The giant redwood has outlived us all, but it will topple sometime. I could walk out into traffic and be gone today. The house we live in, the books we read, everything is working towards decomposition. Even the things that are supposed to last, gold and gems and prized things, can be lost, taken away by a single fire, a flood, a strong wind. Memories and love and knowledge can be wiped from our brain with a single Stroke, a disease, a blow.

I don’t mean to this to be a depressing thought. And it shouldn’t be. Life springs from the energy composed of loved ones and loved things. And I believe things will be different someday. But someday is not now.

If energy can come from dying leaves, so be it. I, too, feel a lightness at the crisping of the air, the color of the foliage.

Endings happen all the time. If death somehow somewhere makes joy, joy would be a constant.

What do you think?