…toss it!

To me,
What if every person took every pen that stopped in mid-stroke and sent it back to the manufacturer? Not the pens that have provided adequate service and have nearly run out of ink, but those that have stopped for no apparent reason?

I spend a lot of money on pens, in the quest for the perfect writing instrument, but I always come back to the cheap ones. I know that it’s against my astrological character for me to use a cheap pen, but they are the only ones that work reliably.

I’m convinced that if the manufacturer had to deal with all those nonfunctioning pens, pouring in through the mail, they would stop sticking us with them. Pondering, T

I’m battling a family tradition that rinsed and reused plastic grocery bags and flattened and folded aluminum foil, but I now feel that I have amassed enough plastic grocery bags to secure my place in the record books into the next millennium and so I’m giving myself permission to toss stuff out and not feel a bit bad about it. I’m recklessly wrinkling aluminum foil and flinging it into landfills worldwide. I have a lot of years to catch up on, so don't try to guilt me. I was green before the enviro"mentals" were old enough to know it was really just a mix of blue and yellow.

This cavalier attitude hasn’t transferred successfully to stuff—I still can’t throw away stuff. Now, don’t be confused, this is not just trash, this is the junk that has put in its time, has served me well and moved up a level and attained the coveted “stuff status,” whereupon, it immediately breaks and again becomes junk.

It’s hard for me to toss out once-valued-stuff-reverted-back-to junk. I’m keeping it in case it might be fixable or to use for planters, or whatever and it’s overwhelming my space! I just can’t do it anymore! So, I’ve decided that all the certifiable junk—either the items that didn’t work long enough to attain stuff status—or stuff that has reverted back to junk—to mail it back.

Yup! I’m going to send it back to the manufacturer.

Reality Bite: Think of it as a form of paying forward, and consider the postal infuse to benefit this flagging economy.

…return policy

When you are returning some failed object, don't bother looking for the original carton, or searching for the original receipt. They were recycled the day before the warrantee expired and two days before it broke. Just box it up in any odd box, (might as well use the computer box. It has three weeks to go,) then ship it back to the manufacturer.

Don’t include a note. The company won’t even flinch. They'll know it’s broken because by now they already know what was wrong with the original design. And whatever you do, don’t use your real return address. (Junk has a way of finding its way back).

They will keep it, in storage in a warehouse somewhere, in a pile, waiting for “further customer instructions,” and you will be the winner because you won’t have to look at it for eternity, cursing yourself.[1]

Reality bite: The day after you send it, the original receipt will turn up, and months later, just to provoke you, the instruction manual will surface with detailed instructions on troubleshooting.

Note to self: Send a note to Monte Blanc… remind them of form vs. function… recommend their engineers work on the function aspect.

Never mind! The husband solved that problem with a refill from the dollar store.

[1] For buying it, for keeping it, for the lack of gumption to throw it out, for a weak character, for being born…

…a new life

I'm told that major changes in life, moves, births, deaths, and divorces, are stressors and the greater the number, the greater the impact level and the higher the curve at which I set my reality.

I know there must have been some period of my life that was calm and peaceful and I think I've discovered when it was. It was directly after The Big Move 

Dear Anyone Who Cares, 
The husband asked Saturday if I was homesick and I felt a wave of sadness roll over me as I answered no.  I wish I had a reason to get out of bed, but the house is beginning to resemble the one I left (prior to the move), so there is no reason to get up to unpack any more boxes. I’m comfortable just sitting right here and writing aimlessly to people who care.

Handwritten by me, who has yet to unearth the computer amidst the avalanche. Terina

I think I was unattached and unattended… for about six months, then I went and birthed another batch of excitement.  

.I love blogging because to find enough drivel in my life to write about each day, I have to trek through the piles of my journals. I have so much that I'll never run out! You could cheer or not, depending on your perspective.

To me:
The husband left for Houston today. The kids left for school on the bus at 8:30, back at 4:00. Here I am alone and I've decided it's a breakdown day. I should be looking forward to a nap but I’ve already been to bed. I’m up, it’s noon and I don’t feel any better. But, I shouldn’t. Today isn’t over yet. T.

Sometimes it is better to toke up the intensity. I do better engulfed in busi-ness. I’m happier in constant motion. If I ratchet up the insanity levels, then there are excuses for my forgetting nature, and for my chaos. If I weren’t so busy, I would have no rebuttal.

To me:
It seems I’ve spent my lifetime struggling to eek out more time. Now I have it. Eons of moments stretch before me in this place, as I look out on the stifling hot waste that is my life. This new city is misery personified. It’s too hot to go out, too lonely to visit. I’m too fat to feast, too tired to care, too bored to stand this, too lonely. Despair.

It’s pathetic prose, but I take it where I can. Moribund, T.

I’m constantly being warned that I should hold back and let the world pass me by instead of meeting it head on with a forward dash toward insanity. Okay, I’ve tried it. I don’t like it.

Reality bite: But dont worry.  There is no threat because busy doesn’t necessarily mean productive.