Dis-connected

Geez. I just have to get more exercise, that's all there is to it. Too much blogging is bad for a girl's figure.

My mind is scattered this morning, so I'm afraid I'm not going to be all that coherent. Probably because R and I hauled about seven tons of earth and sand for a solid three days during our continuing chain gang efforts to fill in the huge crevasse made to lay the sewer line. Tomorrow Mr. Inspector Smarty Pants will lean his face down into the abyss and offer his rectally correct opinion on our labor and give us the thumbs up or thumbs down. If the latter, I will be inclined to fling myself into the aforementioned crevasse. I'm surprisingly un-weary this morning despite all that grueling labor, however. I must have come from sturdy peasant stock. But we'll never know, will we?

I just finished breakfast of eggs, toast, and decaf tea. I got off caffeine last year after a life-long addiction that originated when I was around three years old when my a-grandfather used to serve me mugs of milk laced with coffee, his second favorite beverage. His favorite beverage was some brown liquor he kept under the kitchen sink and guzzled in the wee hours while my a-grandmother slept. He also smoked partial cigarettes on the frong porch, stubbed them out, and deposited them in his pants pockets to save for later before going in the house. He smelled like a walking ashtray. Anyway, this unemployed adoptee is now fueled to add another blog entry.

On to another subject, as I read blogs I'm always struck by the need for audience. Everyone wants their fifteen minutes of fame. Everyone craves attention, including me. We all want people to visit our blogs, read them, and make return visits, ideally leaving behind comments as they go, like trails of digital breadcrumbs. I find it interesting how addictive it is to read my traffic stats to determine who from where read what and for how long. I'm thinking how desperately we all need to be noticed, how we long to connect, as I wrote yesterday. It used to be we connected in the marketplace or the plaza. We had huge extended families, and people loved and bickered and aired their laundry face to face in real time and in real places. It's clear that over time we have all been separated to weaken our connections so that we don't rise up en masse against our masters. Here I'm thinking Homeland Security and all of its implications...

[T]he Home Front is something of a fiction and lie, designed, not too subtly, to draw [us] apart, to subvert love in favor of work, abstraction, required pain, bitter death. (Pynchon)

Oh, and allow me to add the enforced poverty that makes young women 1) see themselves as inferior and 2) give up their babies...yeah, and there's that. So, I've been seeing a parallel to this craving for connection to what it feels like [*cat screetch*] EVERY FREAKING DAY OF AN ADOPTEE'S LIFE. Hello.