I love to love you baby

I feel better today, probably because of coming out of the grief closet. Why wasn’t I able to tell some of my friends why I’ve been upset and bitchy for a couple weeks? Why did I just assume that would be a bad idea? What made me think my grief was so special and incomprehensible I had to scrunch it all up in a tight little ball of bitch? Because the sun shines out of my ass, that’s why. My beautiful, beautiful ass. God, I’m glad my ass is on the back of me or I’d just sit around staring at it all day. I’m also better because the news from Yorkshire is better and Mum and I did manage to cheer each other up some, somehow, in consequence.

Now I would like to write something of limited consequence, for example about how I wish every day was the World Cup because I think that would help men and women understand each other more, as men are liable to see women they want to have carnal knowledge of every day, several times a day, whereas I (in the absence of my sweetheart) can go weeks without seeing a man I want to have carnal knowledge of, but if at any given moment I could switch on the television and see any of the players from this particular tournament the situation would be re-equilibrated because this was the least attractive man playing and I’d still have hit it ‘til it hurt.

I’d also like to point out that renowned, recently deceased Canadian leftie economist John Galbraith, who among other things coined the terms ‘conventional wisdom’ and championned deficit spending and whose dryly humorous and occasionally persuasive The Affluent Society I’m currently enjoying. . .

looks just like . . .

But then I promised ya'll I’d stop going on about football, so I won’t. And now it’s time for me to get ready for Ottawa, my bitches, and BLUESFEST! WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!