I'm so tired, I need a new word for tired.
That’s why, some days, I just have to talk about what a nice day I had, or my favorite band, or other stupid shit like that.
On that note, don’t think those meme things don’t tempt me. They do, but I feel about them the same way I feel about karaoke: I’m very supportive and interested in other people’s contributions, but I remain convinced that no one wants to hear mine. No one wants to hear me sing “Love Lifts Us Up Where We Belong,” no matter how ironically I sing it, and no one wants to know if I have a tattoo, or whether I’ve been up in a hot air balloon.
I haven’t, by the way. Been up in a hot air balloon. I’m sure it’s fabulous, but I’ve never done that. And I’ve never been in a helicopter, either, let alone fly over Hawaiian volcanoes in a helicopter, like some lucky people have. I’m sure it’s the most amazing thing ever, to do that, but I’ve never done it. That’s someone else’s life, those things. I did fly once in my uncle Jack’s little Buddy Holly death machine-type airplane, and it made me so sick I threw up all over my little sister. She cried, when I did that, and I really can’t say that I blame her. But what was I supposed to do? Throw up on myself? It was a small area, and my choices were limited.
So I’m tired, and I want our servicemen and women to stop dying in Iraq. We can never win, there, ever, because we are the cause of the fighting. The only way to win is to leave, and you may think I’m being too simplistic, and you can argue that the Middle East experts in the administration are saying that our “premature” departure would have grave consequences both abroad and at home, and to that I would say, hey, why not listen to them? I mean, they’ve been right about so many things so far.
Excuse me, I have to go lay down now.
