My Exciting Life As a Barcalounger

Seriously--that's alls I gots to report. Today, I was a sofa. I was a sofa here, I was a sofa at the movies (where the Cave Troll fell asleep and Ladybug pretended to sword fight just like the big-eared little mouse) and then we came home and I was a sofa again. There are a couple of bad things about being a sofa:

A. No writing gets done
B. No knitting gets done
C. The book I'm reading right now is on my computer, so no reading gets done either.

But then and again, a lot of sleeping gets done, so that's... well, uhm, that's just sad!

But Despereaux was a wonderful movie, and that was something accomplished, and I've been dozing in front of a Looney Tunes marathon, so that makes me feel like I've been doing archival research into American pop-culture or something--(I mean, what was that apparently racy book called 'Amber' that the nurse was reading in the Tweety/Sylvester cartoon? I think Smart Bitches covered that in a column once, and enquiring minds want to know.)

The Samurai did a lovely photo retrospective of the things she's made this year--I was, of course, completely in awe, and I tried to rack my brains for things I'd made that I was particularly proud of. Per usual, my brain thinks that the year didn't begin until Summer Vacation and still, in retrospect, I did a lot of scarves and hats and socks and mitts-- the largest thing I probably knit was the 1/4 of a sweater I started for Chicken and didn't finish (although for some reason I haven't given that one up). However, I did manage to write, and I guess Bitter Moon II is going to have to stand as my Magnum Opus for 2008-- that, and a lot of days like this, I guess--Mom as Barcalounger--and a certain revisiting of the culinary, uhm... well, you wouldn't call it art. I do more like culinary fingerpainting--maybe that should be my New Year's Resolution? Should I graduate to culinary crayon drawings? It's an idea anyway.

The Yarn Harlot also did a paean to things gone by--her valiant Sir Washie bit the dust and much hilarity ensued(for us, anyway--I'm sure for her it's pretty damned traumatic) and it did get me thinking. Even though I accomplished only one thing of note, (okay, three if you count the Jack & Teague stories) I maintained my sanity and my family and life dealt me no crushing blows this year--I didn't get fired (as much as part of me probably wanted to, last school year), nothing major broke down, and nobody died in my immediate family circle except Bryar's last fish in the scum tank and we really didn't know him that well. I mean, for once, even the rat survived the temperature change, and the cat that was supposed to die slowly because I was a shitty pet owner just took a really long nap on my chest, cementing my identity as a barcalounger, and proving that his tenure as a comfortable nuisance might last for a while yet. That, and Matt and I made it a semester with me part time and we only pulled out the credit card for Christmas (and, yeah, okay, for Bitter Moon II because I'm a selfish, driven, obsessed bitch with no patience whatsoever). I do know that there have been deaths--and ones that hurt me personally and painfully, but just feeling that pain and watching the people closest to those losses deal with the true, soul-ripping agony of being closest to those losses has made me so grateful that, although life is full of meetings and partings, there are some partings I have not had to face yet. You can never be grateful enough that the people you love are there for you to love them.

My children grew older. The teenagers don't seem to be headed for alcoholism, drug-abuse, prostitution, dropping out of school, piercing parts of their bodies that shouldn't be pierced or beating up nuns behind parked cars. The short people seem to be reasonably intelligent, fairly well-adjusted, and in spite of the opinions of ignorant moo-cows in the middle of the Arco-Arena crowd, the smallest one has no fear of me or my temper whatsoever. The Cave Troll might even get through Kindergarten without having to repeat it (although, since he's physically not developed enough to even decide which hand he wants to use, I could give a ripe shit if he does have to repeat it. Fucking California public educational clusterfuck!)

I have students who hate me, students who love me, and students who feel that I might actually have something to teach them. I may even get to teach writing next year. I seem to remember that writing is something I enjoy--go figure.

In short, for good or for bad, the year is over and we survived and live to laugh and cry again.

Life as a Barcalounger was good in 2008.

Canyagimmehallelujia? Amen.