But you see, in my mind I'm not complaining. It's simply a running commentary. I'm not actually bothered by the things I observe. Either way, and most importantly, I really only complain about school. Do I whine about going to work? Do I complain about paying bills? Do I mewl at pumping gas in the cold? No I do not. In conclusion, once I am done with school (in just 5 short (long) months) I'll have noting to whinge about. I'll be a happy camper with nothing before me but open road and Mom and Dad's sofa. I hereby state that despite the dreary-some outlook I portray for myself on this silly blog of mine, I'm quite tickled for my bleak future of naps and good meals. Who could ask for more?
In other news, as an "artistic" assignment I had to write up my own obituary. Ahem...
"Sunday September 2, 2013
Laura Anne Union, 23, of James
Island SC, passed away suddenly of morbid obesity after a life-long love affair
with cake batter and pimento cheese.
Born in Kentucky and raised in
South Carolina, Laura was best known for her thunderous cackle, squeamish demeanor,
and severe urges for spontaneous naps and rearranging furniture. Laura enjoyed
the simple things in life and always made time for the ridicule and scorn of
others. Much of her time was spent in deep philosophical thought- coming to
conclusions for both the inexhaustible woes of bathing suit shopping as well as
the enigmatic yet seductive qualities of dark chocolate. The memorial service
for Laura will be held this Wednesday Sept, 5, at Boone Hall Plantation where
she worked for years, insisting on manual labor as her main form of income in a
perpetual effort to dismiss “The Man”.
It entertained me if nothing else.
Briefly in other news, we are preparing for our Thanksgiving Day assaults by making Pumpkin Truffles and Mom's most recent attempts at making homemade toffee- something she has decided is her "next big thing". This has yet to work out. I am done with school for a few days whereupon everything is due on my return next Monday. Ellen is planning to take a waiting job at "Barbra Jeans" in addition to her twice-a-week Bistro gig. She hopes this will bring her more money and therefore peace to the rest of us family members. For a solid 50 minutes, Mom, Ellen, and I convinced ourselves there was a "Tuna Ghost" in the house before discovering that the fishy odor was coming from Mom's bedroom shoes.
Dad continues his daily scurrying about, blindly barreling through everyday life with a bounce in his step and a phone on his ear.
* Mom insists I inform you that she in fact stepped in something "fishy" and that it was not her natural foot odor causing the offense.
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