Trucks

I am horribly confused by the whole food truck thing.

Since when has it become socially acceptable to consume anything other than hot dogs or soft pretzels, perhaps cotton candy, from a vehicle?  Who the fuck thought it would be a good idea to pack an entire restaurant kitchen into a vehicle so you can serve food from it? Not only that...but who the fuck thought that this would be a good idea to do in Ohio?  You know, land of all four seasons in one day...where it is not uncommon to have to wear snow boots, a rain coat, and a cardigan you could take off if needed over a short sleeved shirt all in the same work day?

Does the fumes from the gasoline or diesel add some kind of exotic flavor to the food?  Is THAT why carnival food tastes so good?  (I'm still asserting that it is because they never ever clean those kitchens, and you can't get that kind of seasoning with having served funnel cakes and Italian sausage for 30 years straight  from a kitchen with a good scrub down on a regular basis, I tell you what...)

How the fuck do they get their deliveries?  Like, truck to truck?  And I'm a little skeptical that there is enough storage in those bad boys for a full week's worth of cooking...therefore necessitating a brick and mortar building, and also therefore negating the need for the fucking truck to begin with.  Why do Americans think that we need to consume food that is basically gypsy in nature.  I mean, I have nothing against gypsies per se...but I don't want to have to chase my food.  I leave my hunting to my husband and just go to the fucking grocery store.

And even if the truck never moves...WHAT IS THE POINT?  Why not just get a building?  Why do you have to confuse and vex me so, food trucks?  Why do you have to go and give me an existential crisis?  Why am I so horribly confused by this concept?

WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN?

Reggie II

This hamster is making me increasingly paranoid.

First off, she's hoarding food in her cage.  Like she has it stored strategically around under her bedding.  What the fuck for?  It figures that I would get the hamster that is some sort of a crazy prepper.  She's probably going to vote for Trump and is a fan of Ted Nugent, too.  If I find out that she's hoarding ammo too the next time I change her bedding, I'm moving out of the house.

Second, she's got some kind of intricate tunnel system set up underneath her bedding.  Three fourths of the time, she is not above ground; rather she is doing who the fuck knows what in her bunker under the bedding.  Seriously, they are tunnels like the Viet Cong or something.  She even has them leading up to her little house thing, so she does not have to come above ground to even go into her  home.

I fully expect to hear the banjos from Deliverance every time I check this fucker's food and water.  Look at those suspicious, beady eyes...

Third, she seems to be perfecting her Matrix-like ninja skills.  She is getting increasingly adept at avoiding anyone handling her...it's like she has some fear of being contaminated or something if she is touched by us Human Infidels.  It appears that biological warfare is the only thing that she is not prepared for, so I guess that makes sense as it is her only vulnerability.

WHAT THE FUCK AM I EVEN TALKING ABOUT???  Her only vulnerability?  This fucking midget rodent has ME plotting HER downfall!  The psychological torture here is almost unbearable!  

I used to think that it would be the children that sent me to the insane asylum.  It appears that the hamster is a close contender to be the reason as well.  

Enough

I've been a bad blogger again, bitchez.

I've got all kinds of excuses.  Two jobs.  Three children who consistently demand things like nutrition, healthcare, and education. (Assholes.)  A house that, let's face it, is not going to be as clean as I would like it until we move out of it and into another bigger one we can trash. Just maybe a little more spread out will the trashing be. (And Yoda I am channeling.)  And of course, I'm constantly looking for new things to occupy my time stress myself out over, such as contemplating opening my Etsy store for business and expanding my gardens and training for a marathon.

Ha ha.  I can't even find time to read a goddamned book.  Or even a fucking short story or poem.  A marathon is totally out of the question.  I'm lucky to find time to exercise at all (as evidenced by all of the weight I have gained back...:/ )  Everything just keeps getting pushed off to the future.  When I have only one job.  When the kids are in school full time.  When we finally move out to the country.

Everything seems like it has been getting postponed lately.  I wanted to have a bigger house for Elizabeth's grad party.  She graduates this June, and we are still in the same house.  I wanted to start running again.  I still have not gone out to buy new running shoes.  I wanted to have Alexis take violin lessons.  Her violin has not been touched in forever.  I signed Charlie up for 1,000 books before kindergarden.  She's probably read that many already, but we don't get to the library to turn her papers in.  Hell, I've been wanting to go on a date with my husband.  It's been way too long.

I feel like I have been such a failure in so many ways.  I judge myself way more harshly than anyone else.  The perfectionism that I lecture my clients about runs rampant in myself, and I always seem to be slacking.

But yet...our house feels like home and Elizabeth is having fun planning her graduation party with me.  Alexis has found her true love in dance.  Charlie is as smart as a whip.  My husband puts up with my crazy.  It just never feels like I am doing enough.

Not pretty enough.  Not skinny enough.  Not smart enough.  Not enough money.  Not taking the kids to enough activities.  Not spending enough quality time with them.  Not spending enough time on my career.  Not spending enough time on housework.  On reading.  On hobbies.  On exercise, fitness, and/or health.  On beauty.  On pop culture.  On learning about social media.

When does it become enough?  When you are too old to remember?  When you die?  When you wake up one day and realize that all the voices that were on the outside, or so you thought, were really coming from within, but with help from external sources?  When you realize perfection is an unrealistic standard sold by marketing companies to promote products for the almighty dollar?

I know most of  that logically.  Yet I can understand why most people don't feel it in their hearts.  I tell people,  "Today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday."  But you can't rationalize with anxiety (believe me, I've tried.)

I just have to hope that it is enough.  And keep contributing to the children's therapy funds in case it is not.