Uncle Ray

Just when I was ready to scream “Uncle!” from all the election agony, it is finally over and I can get out of my funk. I pray for you, my friends, that you never live in a swing state. Although the whole shebang was decided and as of this morning, they still had Florida “whited” out, as if we never existed. Or as my husband says, “Florida – the taint of the U.S.”

I got my tattoo almost three weeks ago, and as I said, we altered the image a bit. I think the original black and white illustration was great, and I would have loved to go with just that, but here’s what we came up with:

It’s my forearm, not my calf, as some folks on FB thought. Yes, it’s big. Yes, even at 45 my mother will probably have a cow. Yes, it’s a little colorful. I am happy, though. I was originally going to get a line of poetry by Emily Dickinson, but deemed it to depressive. So I opted for a line from a favorite song by Goldfrapp, which is one of the sweetest compliments I can imagine. It is for my husband.

I took today off work b/c I had one of my migraines. I have been pretty headache free for 2 months, which is beneficial, since I was taken OFF my migraine meds by the neurologist. Turns it I should have been taken off months ago after my heart incident. Which they knew about. Whatever. I am now on nothing and it sucks. I think I have been getting rebound headaches for years by relying to much on the meds, and am glad they have tapered off, but bad allergy attacks spur them on. I have been really trying to cut back on any and all meds, but clearly a visit to the doctor to get back on Singulair is in order. It is what it is. I am like Julianne Moore in Safe. I will end up in a disinfected yurt somewhere.

Speaking of movies, Cloud Atlas was of course a letdown since the book is a personal favorite. One does have to admire the filmmakers for trying, though, and I think a DVD viewing, when it is time and if it has deleted scenes, might elucidate things more. Adding love stories where there were none was a big mistake, which is why the one true love story that WAS in the book, the 1930s one, was the only one that really sang. It didn’t hurt that it was the one featuring my angel of acting, Ben Whishaw. I will try and scrape my pennies together to see Skyfall this weekend not because I give a damn about James Bond, but because this floppy-haired cupid will be playing Q with nerd glasses and sweater. I die.

I don’t know if anyone really reads all my ramblings here, but I am thankful to have a place to do just that; ramble on. I miss having people I can talk about books and movies and music with (well, besides my husband) ever since one of my dearest friends moved to California. I guess that’s what God made Internet message boards for.

Time to make dinner and get ready for another day at work. At least I was able to dust and clear my brain today. And I listened to a lot of Kinks today, for some reason. Honey is a more of a fan than I, but I can certainly see the through-line from Ray Davies to Damon Albarn and appreciate it. Have a good night!

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