Isn't it Ironic

Well, there is no fooling you, smart readers.
Pretty much everyone saw through my irony; Peaches has never met a cookie she didn't like, and if she expressed a preference instead for my salad, my blog would end, because I'd have a heart attack. The rest of the notable and quotable dialogue was lifted directly from the mouths of babes.

I still have nothing I can bear to write about from our daily existence. I. Feel. Low. Having experienced the details of September and the start of October live and in person, I don't have enough left in me to relive them through the narrative. And I haven't accumulated enough one liners for another whole Notable and Quotable. (The only new one I have worth repeating is that, today, while home sick for the trillionth time, Rooster hugged me and said, "Mommy? I love your bones.")

So I'm not sure what I'm doing here, really, without so much as a seed or a germ or any other beginning place; I guess it's just this is where I go. This is how I hang. I need my blog fix. Where else would I be? Where else am I?

So here is me riffing free style; I feel some VERY, VERY, VERY bad poetry or something like it coming on, but trust me when I say it beats telling you what we've been doing...(I suggest you now head back to your aggregator and find a better blog to read for the time being)...

I am too judgmental
Of her and him
That lady who cut it too close in the boxy black car this morning --
What was SHE thinking? Looked like thinking probably isn't her thing if you want to know my opinion
And that MOTHER in the meeting, oh I have her pegged;
You will not catch me sitting within ten feet,
And speaking of ten feet, that really tall guy in the elevator made me want to get off a floor earlier than necessary... creepy.
He should take a class in smiling.
Classes? I could recommend a few.
For the doctor who knows jack
and the know-it-all neighbor who never heard of etiquette,
the sitter who seems barely literate,
my politicians,
"entertainers,"
even my mother ---
I have a prescription, a solution, an improvement, a plan for their evolution...
a judgment.
No one escapes.
But sometimes I think about the chick in the boxy car.
I think what if she just got a diagnosis for someone she loves?
I could barely find the road some days.
I wonder if that mom in my meeting might be parenting all by herself --
my greatest fear --
and if the elevator guy thought actually I was the scary one, pushing the buttons like they might launch missiles and carrying two giant bags along with the chip on my shoulder.
I've been thinking that maybe I need to cut my doctors, my neighbors, my mom some slack.
Of course, the politicians we know on an objective and absolute level to be categorically and undeniably morally bankrupt, but besides the John Edwardses of the world (and there are far too many), the only person who deserves my cantankerous contempt are really judgmental people.
We get on my nerves more than anything.