IF MY LAPTOP DOESN'T RECOGNIZE ME, THEN DO I STILL EXIST?

 Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

Sometimes when I attempt to log in on my laptop, I put my index finger on the doo-dad and the computer says it doesn't know who I am. 

What? Then who in the hell am I? I try again and sometimes it says I have to enter my PIN. Fine, whatever. 

Times are hard, boys and girls, very hard.

I wanted to write about dreams, but I can't remember them. I take a prescription medicine to help me sleep that can cause vivid dreams. The longer I'm on it, the less vivid the dreams are, or they go away, or I don't remember them. I ran out of it recently and after I began taking it again, I had some wild dreams. 

The first dream was pleasant. Mitchell and I were conversing. He was in the US. I don't know what we were talking about, but it was such a pleasant dream that I wanted to write about it. Alas, the details are gone.

Then, early Monday morning I had a nightmare. It was real, and I was terrified. I came out of it when I heard myself ask, Is this a nightmare? I don't remember what that was about either. 

I have lost track of the number of supervisors I've had at work. They come and go constantly on the supervisor merry-go-round. They quit or they're promoted or they disappear. The first one, Bryan, was so good that I thought the company would have other good supervisors, too. Not so. I had interacted in the past with my current sup. She's in another state, but she seemed great––thorough and pleasant. She isn't. She is disrespectful and can always find something wrong.

I did learn something from her, though. Months ago when I had this year's job review and J hadn't quit yet, he told me I wasn't meeting company standards. For the second year in a row, I didn't get a raise. At the time, my depression was in remission. 

It left its parking spot in remission and went on the attack. I haven't completely recovered yet. However, I learned from the current sup that I was meeting company standards. While I can do some things better, she described one aspect of my numbers as phenomenal. 

I don't know why J lied to me. But his lie did a lot of harm to me. Other supervisors with this company have also lied to me. Do they do so at the behest of management, or do they not know what they're doing? J also lied to a friend of mine who received correct information from her new sup. 

What I know now is I also have other problems. My eczema is terrible on my left hand and arm. Anxiety follows me everywhere I go. I haven't been able to work most of this year because of depression. I am looking for a lawyer who can represent me in Illinois because I received a letter from a lawyer representing my ex-husband. He wants to change our divorce settlement. 

I will be 67 in February, 2026, and I hoped to retire at that point. If X gets his way, I won't get to retire. I'll continue to work for the crappy company with the supervisors who lie. I also won't have enough money to keep my house. I could move into a low-income seniors apartment building, but that won't work for Princess and me. While many of the buildings allow dogs, they don't allow Princess-sized dogs. I'd rather get a tent and pitch it in the woods than give up my Princess. 

Everything seems very dark and dismal to me now. I've been calling law offices. Perhaps the place I called this afternoon will be the right one. I have some retirements funds, some of which I received in the divorce, but X misled me for years about the amount we had saved for retirement. What I have isn't enough to live on combined with the bit I'll get from Social Security––if it still exists.   

The world has always favored men, and I don't see that ending any time soon with the felon's regime in place. Will no one stop him?

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug

TODAY IS INTERNATIONAL WOMBAT DAY

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

If I don't make the mistake of clicking on the thing next to my blog post, will it please not insert links? Let's try: International Wombat Day. Okay. No link. However, predictive text has taken over and I hate and despise it. Let's enjoy a picture of a cute little wombat to help make up for it.

 Okay. Something is really messed up. It took forever for me to get a picture of a wombat. I can't do searches the way I usually do. I can't get photos the way I usually do.

What madness doth this be? What cruel witchery hath taken over the world?  

Are the rest of you under attack by these wicked demons or hath they only taken over my computer? 

Out, witches and warlocks, out! Get thee out of my mechanical device or I shall send my good and faithful servant dog to show her teeth, frighten you, and send you away! Take heed!

Bubble bubble toil and trouble get your asses out of my metal box or I'll turn you to rubble!

I'm too tired to mess with this now. Perhaps the good fairies of the internet will arrive overnight and all will be well tomorrow.

TODAY IS INTERNATIONAL WOMBAT DAY

The post that was here disappeared. That might be for the best because I said motherfucker multiple times.

SOMETHING ACCOMPLISHED

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

As dusk drew nigh on Sunday, I decided to replace the burned out lights on the house next to the deck. I had procrastinated because the job meant climbing the LADDER OF DEATH.

I know to you it's just a regular old ladder. To me it's a hideous contraption.

I am afraid of heights. When I go above the first step of my little step stool in the kitchen it leads to heart palpitations, the need for a fainting couch, a quickening of breath, and whatever Jane Austen would say to describe a lady in distress.

Yet I dragged the ladder out of the junky garage* and steeled myself for the journey. The new light bulbs were on the railing of the deck, awaiting their moment to shine. 

How high would I have to climb? First two steps weren't enough. Save me, Lord, save me. I had to keep going.

I trembled and moaned a little. My tiny feet trembled as they felt for each step up. 

Princess turned in circles of concern on the deck. What if Mommy fell? How would poor little Princess get her supper?

I HAD TO GO ALL THE WAY TO THE TOP STEP OF THE LADDER. Look at how high that is! The gate is 6 feet tall and I had to climb way up above that.

Once I had scaled the summit, I still had to disengage the old bulbs that didn't want to let go because they'd been there for years. Then I had to turn and turn and turn the new bulbs to get them to stay.

I bought extra bright bulbs for Princess'es viewing pleasure (she might want to enjoy a little reading material while taking care of business). 

But the job wasn't finished when the bulbs were in place. 

I was stuck––too frightened to feel for the step down with my foot. So I stayed where I was. I looked over the gate and hoped some kindly neighbor might notice my head up in the air and wondering why it floated on high, come to my aid.

That did not happen.

Eventually I got tired of standing there. My back hurt. Princess wanted her supper, and I was getting a little hungry, too. Food can be a great motivational tool.

So my right foot very slowly felt for the step down. The withdrawal from the ladder took even longer than the ascension. I had to stop to wipe the sweat from my brow so it wouldn't run into the cataracts on my eyes. Years Hours A few minutes later, I was grateful to be on solid ground, although the rest of me still shook.

Princess and I hugged in triumph and marched to the kitchen for her kibble. I took a swig of Diet Pepsi and said, I am a badass.**

Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug 

*I have an excuse for my messy garage. The door is broken so I can't close it. I can't afford a new door at the moment. So I keep messy stuff in the front of the garage. Anyone looking in and thinking about robbing me is supposed to say, Why would I bother? That's nothing but a bunch of junk. They won't see the lawn mower, the pressure washer, and the chain saw in the back of the garage––I hope.

**Once upon a time, I took on a difficult task that worried me and Favorite Young Man declared I was a badass. I don't claim such an appellation very often, but I decided I deserved it for surviving the hazards of the ladder.

THE FINAL PART: JIMMY KIMMEL, JIMMY FALLON, AND JIM MORRISON TRIED TO MAKE ME KILL WILLY DUNNE WOOTERS IN 2015

 I've been reposting a story from 2015 about Sweet Cheeks. At that time I called him Willy Dunne Wooters. To read the first part of the story, please click HERE. To read the second part, please click HERE. I mention Garrison Keillor because Favorite Young Man and I had gone to see him the night before.

Gentle Readers . . . and Maxwell,

It seems to me that before Garrison Keillor came to visit me we had established that Willy Dunne Wooters knew that Jimmy Fallon is good at impersonating musicians, and he sang with Neil Young and WDW had seen that.

I shoulda left it at that. But stupid me, I just had to say that my favorite Jimmy Fallon impersonation was of Jim Morrison singing the theme song from Reading Rainbow. I explained that Reading Rainbow was a show on PBS when my kids were growing up. It was about books. I looked up the video online and played it for the Wooters man:

I started the video. WDW said, Is that Jim Morrison?

No, I said. I already told you that it's Jimmy Fallon pretending to be Jim Morrison singing the theme song from a children's show called Reading Rainbow.

That's not Jim Morrison?

No. (My thought: I am going to get a butcher knife from the kitchen and stab you in the heart if you ask me that question one more time.)

That's Jimmy Fallon?

Yes. (My thought: I will let it go because it wasn't exactly the same question, but I'm still thinking about the shining blade on the butcher knife.)

Did Jim Morrison do that?

No, Jim Morrison was dead before Reading Rainbow was on TV. (My thought: The butcher knife will make a very bloody mess. Maybe I should put down a tarp before I kill him. And instead of the butcher knife, what might bring about a quicker end? A gun? I don't know how to use a gun, and I am in favor of gun control. How can I be such a hypocrite that I would shoot my boyfriend with a gun? What about my sewing scissors? I remember that movie, I can't think of the title, but the man sends a guy to kill his wife, and she manages to stab him in the back with scissors and kill him. Nah. It's not that easy to kill somebody with scissors. Oh, Lord, help me, please.)

I try to change the subject a bit. I say, My favorite lines are when Jimmy Fallon sings "Goodnight, moon, Goodnight, stars."

Willy Dunne Wooters just looks at me with a Willy Dunne Wooters look on his face. He doesn't know what I'm talking about.

I explain: Good Night, Moon is a famous children's book. Jimmy Fallon uses a couple of lines in the song.

Did Jim Morrison do that?

No. Jim Morrison was dead when Reading Rainbow was on TV.

(My thought: Maybe I should kill myself instead of the Wooters man. Then someone else has to clean up the mess. I doubt if stabbing myself will work well. Hanging? Can I hang myself? No, I probably wouldn't break my neck. I'd asphyxiate. It would take forever.)

No, says WDW. I mean did Jim Morrison sing lines from children's books in his songs?

If I'd had a mirror to look in at that moment, I bet my face would have been purple.

No, I said. I don't know of a time when Jim Morrison sang lines from children's books in his songs.

He didn't sing lines from that children's book in any of his songs?

The lizard king
didn't sing songs
with lines from
children's books.

I feel pretty certain that's the way the words looked when they came out of my mouth. I start to think about Miss Junebug in the dining room with the candle stick. I think about forgetting that it would be hypocritical to buy a gun and use it to murder this man in the ballroom. I don't have to be Miss Junebug. I can be Col. Mustard and that lessens the hypocrisy.

WDW says, So Jim Morrison didn't sing anything from children's books?

I scream: Jim Morrison was the lizard king.
       Jim Morrison was the lizard king.
      Jim Morrison was the lizard king.

My mind is made up. I'm going to Wal-Mart for a gun and ammo.

Aw, don't get so upset, honey, says WDW. I know Jim Morrison was the lizard king. You just know so much more about these things than I do that I thought maybe he really sang that song.

No, Jim Morrison didn't sing that song.

Willy Dunne Wooters says, You seem tired. Why don't we go to bed? I'll rub your back till you feel better.

Okay.

We take off our clothes and get in the bed and God is in His heaven, and all's right with the world. 

I forget about butcher knives and guns and sewing scissors until the next time I need them.

Willy Dunne Wooters rubs my back. Then he kisses my neck so softly while one hand slides around me to hold my right breast. Oh, yes. It's heaven.

Goodnight, moon. Goodnight, stars.


Infinities of love,

Janie Junebug