I am confessing (one of) my deepest, blackest sins right here in public. I don't expect any sympathy. I am hoping for some redemption since confession is supposed to be good for the soul. I am ... a killer, a stone killer of tender green things. My weapon of choice is neither bullet nor dagger nor poison. It is with my two bare Black Thumbs that I murder innocent and unsuspecting green plants. My latest victim is the Christmas poinsettia. It lived for three whole months, which is longer than its predecessors, but it has now bitten the dust.
Every year, I say "No! I will not buy one." Because I know what will happen; I know I won't be able to stop myself from ultimately strangling the life from the poor unsuspecting thing. And then some store clerk panders to my good nature and hands me a victim by emphasizing how full and beautiful it is and lying to me about how easy it is to care for. "This thing will take care of itself!" they claim, dollar signs glittering in their lying eyes. "There's no way you can kill it!" I don't know why lightning bolts don't come down and smite them. I fall for the line -- again -- take it home, and do what they say. I give it the recommended dosage of light. I give it water. I give it ... love. And then I kill it anyway. It's always an accident (so it's not First Degree Murder) but, still, the poor tender thing which started out with such promise ends up a scraggly, brown, dried out corpse. I'm still a murderer.
And it gets worse. I seem to have a vocation for serial murder. As long as I'm in the confessional, I suppose it behooves me to admit that I've also killed the Valentine's Day plant. I don't even know what it was, but it was pretty, with fluffy, rounded green leaves and pert red blossoms. Now it's ... dead. I'll try to revive it with one more drink of water, but I doubt it'll survive my last-ditch ministrations. I should just call it what it is -- Last Rites.
Twisted Linguistics got hold of these Words Gone Wild which could all use a good choking.
in my wild-less dreams - Very boring (probably Fundamentalist) dreams.
revereberated - Something that is worshipped and harangued at the same time.
aggrivation - Deprived of annoyances.
astonds me - Asteroid a-fall froma sky and a-stonds me senseless when it-a hit me inna ma head.
meyham - That pig belongs to moi!
If we error - Forgiveness me for the err of my ways.
history bares repeating - Going back to the nude beach for another look.
the King is a slovenly oath - The King is very messy in his cussing.
I'm doing Dress-up Thursday. I'm wearing pale grey Glenn-plaid pants, my white "pirate" shirt (I just love these billowy "balloon" sleeves), and clogs. Accessories include gold drop earrings, gold link bracelet, and ... pearls. As an aside to the ladies, satin bra straps look pretty and skin loves their softness, but -- they won't stay up. Are you playing dress-up with me? What are you wearing?
In honor of St. Patrick's Day (Saturday), let's find out how Irish we are.
|You're 70% Irish|
You're very Irish, and most likely from Ireland.
(And if you're not, you should be!)