Monday, October 25, 2004
Madness Monologue
I must be, right this instant, the only person in the entire country - make that world - whose mother is cross with him for mopping his bedroom floor down with detergent (in water of course.
apparently detergent will stain the floor, and i should just be using elbow grease.
It's probably a good job I bit back my moment of catharsis : my god! my clothes... have all been horribly marred by all that washing powder! Good Grief!!
so right now, as I use my super-concentrated detergent (1 part in 300... sigh) and scrape that film of grey off the floor (Whaddaya know, it IS meant to be a white floor) I can't help but wonder what it'd be like to have a normal family... sigh.
*****
A Little Knowledge is a Dangerous Thing
so here I am on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor of my room with what is essentially a toothbrush, a pail of (clear) water, and a cloth, acquiring a nice case of clergyman's knee (I suppose, depending on the target audience, I can either claim that it's because I'm exceptionally pious, or talk about missionaries... heh) and contemplating
1) how I will never, ever, upon pain of death, marry a lawyer. Ever. In this lifetime or the next.
2) how a little information taken out of context can lead to so much grief (mine). All I'm trying to do is remove what must be several decades worth of dead skin cells and dustmites from the floor. Is that too much to ask? But apparently according to the lawyer's new line of attack (it is amazing how lawyers can effortlessly change tacks and raise utterly inappropriate evidence to substantiate their arguments in ways that would do even Bush and Kerry proud) she is hyperallergic to the chemicals in cleaning detergent, and they make her knees prickle so I am trying to poison her by cleaning the floor. Apparently she gleaned all this from a pamphlet she picked up at an ENT appointment about Sick Building Syndrome and industrial cleaning agents.
ARRRggh!! Sick.. BUILDING. Aspergillosis. AIR CON. WORKERS TAKING TIME OFF WORK. to go HOME and recuperate. Not. Not. argh!
3) I am beginning to understand why doctors marry doctors as a rule. It is because otherwise the women they love and marry turn into doctor's wives (no offence intended to this doctor's wife of course), ie fecking loony tunes who don't understand what the medical facts they're acquiring actually mean, but are fully justified in imposing their authorities in misimplenting this new-found mis-knowledge on their hapless kids. Looking at my dad I can only assume that the Y "rationality" chromosome crumbles easily after years of attack by two Xs.
4) how essential detergent really is to cleaning floors. Never mind, I console myself : you're getting a nice upper body workout. uh huh.
5) how unappealing the entire concept of ever getting married feels. Geesh. Are there no normal women left in the world?
6) maybe, just maybe all mothers end up crazy like mine. Maybe it's a hormonal thing.
Universal solvent. Universal solvent. Maybe if I say it enough times, I'll start to believe it. Universal...
apparently detergent will stain the floor, and i should just be using elbow grease.
It's probably a good job I bit back my moment of catharsis : my god! my clothes... have all been horribly marred by all that washing powder! Good Grief!!
so right now, as I use my super-concentrated detergent (1 part in 300... sigh) and scrape that film of grey off the floor (Whaddaya know, it IS meant to be a white floor) I can't help but wonder what it'd be like to have a normal family... sigh.
*****
A Little Knowledge is a Dangerous Thing
so here I am on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor of my room with what is essentially a toothbrush, a pail of (clear) water, and a cloth, acquiring a nice case of clergyman's knee (I suppose, depending on the target audience, I can either claim that it's because I'm exceptionally pious, or talk about missionaries... heh) and contemplating
1) how I will never, ever, upon pain of death, marry a lawyer. Ever. In this lifetime or the next.
2) how a little information taken out of context can lead to so much grief (mine). All I'm trying to do is remove what must be several decades worth of dead skin cells and dustmites from the floor. Is that too much to ask? But apparently according to the lawyer's new line of attack (it is amazing how lawyers can effortlessly change tacks and raise utterly inappropriate evidence to substantiate their arguments in ways that would do even Bush and Kerry proud) she is hyperallergic to the chemicals in cleaning detergent, and they make her knees prickle so I am trying to poison her by cleaning the floor. Apparently she gleaned all this from a pamphlet she picked up at an ENT appointment about Sick Building Syndrome and industrial cleaning agents.
ARRRggh!! Sick.. BUILDING. Aspergillosis. AIR CON. WORKERS TAKING TIME OFF WORK. to go HOME and recuperate. Not. Not. argh!
3) I am beginning to understand why doctors marry doctors as a rule. It is because otherwise the women they love and marry turn into doctor's wives (no offence intended to this doctor's wife of course), ie fecking loony tunes who don't understand what the medical facts they're acquiring actually mean, but are fully justified in imposing their authorities in misimplenting this new-found mis-knowledge on their hapless kids. Looking at my dad I can only assume that the Y "rationality" chromosome crumbles easily after years of attack by two Xs.
4) how essential detergent really is to cleaning floors. Never mind, I console myself : you're getting a nice upper body workout. uh huh.
5) how unappealing the entire concept of ever getting married feels. Geesh. Are there no normal women left in the world?
6) maybe, just maybe all mothers end up crazy like mine. Maybe it's a hormonal thing.
Universal solvent. Universal solvent. Maybe if I say it enough times, I'll start to believe it. Universal...
