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Let me reiterate: THIS IS NOT COOL! People, quit doing this! I realize that the hurricane raises some deep existential questions, but that's why we have the three P's- Priests, Psychiatrists and Philosophers- they know all kinds of stuff that can diminish your personal angst- which one you go to is your choice- just GO!

I, for one, am feeling lucky right about now. I'm horribly sick with a cold, but at least I quit being brain-sick. I tried to kill myself back in high school but with help from the three P's I'm doing much better. Hmmm, maybe I should throw a fourth P in- you know, Psychopharmacology. That one has probably helped me the most. But before I wrap this list up, let me highly recomend Pink Wine and Penis as well.

Another reason I'm lucky is (duh) my location 500 miles west of The Catastrophe. When a huge chunk of the American South is in shambles, my problems (homework, a cold and Grandpa's Girlfriend-Of-Pure-Evil) seem trivial. Oh, speaking of the GFOPE, Mom finally cussed her out. After Mom spent 4 hours cleaning house and changing Grandpa's diapers she went home. Then at 2 a.m. the GFOPE called to tell Mom that Grandpa had pooped the bed. Mom pointed out that poop is just poop. She then explained the complicated workings of the washing machine and excused herself to GO THE HELL BACK TO SLEEP.
The GFOPE said "Okay- just so long as you know how hard my life is."
To which Mom said "YOU FUCKING BITCH!!! HOW DARE YOU!? YOU CALL AT 2 A.M. TO TELL ME YOUR LIFE IS HARD?!?! I HAVE BEEN ELBOW DEEP IN SHIT SINCE I HAD MY FIRST CHILD 22 YEARS AGO AND ELBOW DEEP IN GRANDPA'S SHIT EVER SINCE HE LOST HIS COLON. YOU DON'T DO SHIT AROUND THAT HOUSE. YOUR LIFE ISN'T HARD! OUR LIVES ARE HARD BECAUSE WE HAVE TO PUT UP WITH YOU!!!!"

You may applaud now.
Oh, but the GFOPE is still trying to get Grandpa to revise his will. Such a pity- I was soooo sure the blonde 39 year-old was with my 84 year-old grandpa for love.
The good news though is that Grandpa is, from a legal standpoint, no longer of sound mind, so any revisions done now would never hold up in court.

Even though I'm more pissed than usual at this country (so little relief so late for the hurricane victims) I suppose I do have reasonable appreciation for the court system. Well, I mean, except for the part where the rich can buy lawyers that get them off the hook for the worst of crimes. That's not so good.

Now I'm going to engage in a train-of-thought babble that shall be blamed on the disorienting effects of fever and cold medicine.

You know what I miss about New Orleans? Death. Now before you angrily misunderstand me, let me explain. New Orleans is famous for jazz funerals and above-ground mausoleums. They don't just send a person off, they celebrate the person. We all try to do that after a death, but the New Orleneans have raised it to an art form. They make it beautiful. But what about now? Well, that's not really an option. There are untended and unidentified bodies lying in the streets. Some of them died 4 days ago. That's long enough- in normal times maybe the funeral would be today and maybe there would be dancing and caserole. No- they're just lying there in a way that's been considered undignified since prehistoric times. We humans have to do something when a person dies- burial, cremation, something. Failure to do so makes you a perpetrater of the ultimate taboo- that's why it's so often a theme in horror books/movies. So, in failing to bring National Gaurdsmen back from Iraq and Afghanistan to help with the humanitarian crisis on our own soil, is the President a kind of new Norman Bates? Okay, maybe that's excessively strong language, but I do think something is very wrong with this situation.

Do they have a body count yet?

Yesterday I asked Dr. Raphael how she was doing. She's a strong, smart and serious woman. Her favorite fictional charater is Spock (like many professors she's a closet Trekie) and she shows a Vulcan-like amount of emotion. Despite this and the inevitable power-structure caused by her being a teacher and me being a student, I count her as a good friend. We have met for dinner and just to talk. Anyway, that day when I went into her office just to chew the fat, she was quite upset. She was born and raised in New Orleans. I just asked how she was doing and she started tearing up.

I think Dr. Raphael crying is a sign of the apocalypse. I would ask her, since she does teach Apocalypticism (seriously) but that would just be inapropriate.

Oh well, for now I must go. Ryan's finally home and I have every intention to snuggle the dickens out of him.