Oh My God It’s Her Again
August 9, 2012 § 14 Comments
It’s not that I don’t like Kathy. She means well and her Wiley-Coyote-at-the-piano approach to life makes for some good stories, like the time she ran over herself with her own Mercury Sable, or the time she hired a pet psychic to come over and speak meaningfully into the bewildered faces of her Burmese cat and ancient rescue dog, warning the cat never to go outside at night and asking the dog about his quality of life. The dog told her (in a voice that sounded reminiscent of Babe the pig) he felt young as a spring chicken and ready for years of good living and in fact wanted to go to the beach. The pet psychic left clutching her $250 check, the cat snuck out the next night and the dog dropped dead three months later.
So yeah she’s okay. Kathy, I mean. At least I have not yet traded her in. But sometimes I wake up in the morning, and I’m like, I just don’t want to deal with her today. And I try to slide out of bed very carefully so as not to wake her (by the way, she sleeps like a vampire.)
There are times when I’ve just had it with all her superstitions and hair-trigger relocation compulsion and counterproductive fascinations, not to mention that brain with its hemispheres that quarrel like sister wives. Oh, and the moody adrenal glands. And the serotonin level of Kurt Cobain. And I’m so tired of her jokes. The same two, over and over. She’s apparently never heard of the rule of three.
So along comes this book I’m reading, called Breaking the Habit of Being Yourself. It’s pretty much opened my eyes to the fact that though I cannot escape Kathy, I can change some of things that make her such a vexing internal roommate. I try to make this blog informative and I can tell you it’s a most fascinating book. And Kathy and I are getting along better. Why just the other day she said from the mirror, You know what? You are not so fat. And I said, Thank you. You are not so fat either.