It's My Blog and I'll Cry If I Want To...

but the truth is, I am a private cryer, can't let my guard down like that. Instead, I will have myself a little pity party. Care for some shrimp mold, or pecan tassies, or maybe some M&M cookies? I suppose I could have boiled some crawfish, but I don't eat the things myself, and I didn't figure any of you would eat them either.




Too many places where I went wrong, too much time spent making the list of wrongs, too much wrong to be fixed...

I am a little discouraged, to say the least.

Haven't taken any photographs lately, haven't done any collages, still acting like I am looking for a job, regret dropping school, worried about my son, got an unhappy thirteen year old and an angry husband.

Wrote two convoluted entries, one about loving metaphors, one about how long it takes me to let go and accept change.

When I started this blog, things looked like they were turning around and getting better. I thought I had come through a major personal growth spurt, but it turns out, I have fallen, and I can't get up, and furthermore, to use my husband's crude expression, I have ripped myself a new one on the way down....ha ha ha, I amuse myself.

And I did not want to come here and complain and moan and groan. Just wanted to let you know, I am an unhappy camper at the moment...and I refuse to blame it on hormones....

Because, that's just life. Everybody's got troubles. In the words of a wise Southern woman I talked with this week, "if somebody tells me they ain't got troubles, I'd be worried about that person."

Lagniappe (a little something extra)...

I was trying to find a royalty free image of boiled crawfish for the end of this post, but could not find one. While looking, I saw a picture of a single crawfish and it reminded me of three crawfish I once knew, Huey, Dewey, and Louie. My daughter wanted a crawfish to keep, not to eat, and her ever obliging grandmother (who we were visiting in Louisiana) brought her down to the local seafood shop to purchase a single crawhish, for a pet. The guy knew us, and so he gave my daughter, not one, but three little crawfish, which we dutifully transported back to our two story house in Houston.

I was not prepared to house the three little fellows, and so they stayed in the extra bathtub a day or two, well, it may have been a few days, er weeks, longer than that, I don't remember. What I do remember is the plaintive moan that came drifting down the stairs one morning. Louie had gone amiss. Huey and Dewey were still there, but Louie was gone. And he stayed gone for a couple of days, until the morning near-sighted Mama stumbled into the shower butt naked and looked down to see she was not alone in there. Louie was staring at her with his beady little eyes. Mama let loose with more than a plaintive little moan and Louie was ever so glad to get back upstairs with Dewey and Louie. I never did figure out how he got down the stairs in the first place.

I also saw a picture of a dog and a crawfish staring each other down that brought back memories. The house we lived in while I was growing up was built on land that was once a rice field. We always had a few "crawfish holes" in the backyard, and occasionally, we'd see a crawfish coming out of the ground. The dogs never quite knew what to make of the beady-eyed creatures.

Well see, I have cheered myself right up, talking about crawfish, of all things.