9.14.05: Mea Culpa ‹ Blog « Without-Feathers.com

Never make a defense or an apology until you are accused.
King Charles I of England

Mea Culpa

September 14, 2005

I’m sorry for so many things today.

For one thing, I’m sorry that I haven’t been updating more. See, updating is dependent upon their being a site to update to, and I don’t count my previous journal site as a site since I’d already decided not to update there anymore, so updating my journal entries to that site would have been silly. As you know very well, I hate silliness in all its forms. So do my singing potatoes.

But anyway. The site that I wanted to update to was not yet in existance—not, as you may surmise, because of some loop-flaw in the local time-space continuum, but because I had not yet designed the site and put it up. I could not design the site because I had no inspiration for the layout. This is the fault of my current Creative Muse, who has not been doing his job. I confronted him about this yesterday.

“Muse,” I said, “you are not doing your job. See this web site? See?”

“See what?” he said. “There’s nothin’ there, ye loony lassie.” (As you can tell, my Muse is Scottish.)

“Exactly,” I said. “There is nothing there, and it’s all your fault. Where are my ideas? Where are my great designs? Or have you tippled them all away in the time-honored drunken manners of your countrymen, you wastrel? I begin to sympathize with Edward I, I do.”

That made him angry, and he called me a gormless witch, so I called him a haggis-head, and he called me something completely incomprehensible (he’s not just Scottish, he’s from Glasgow) and stormed off, kilt swishing angrily about his knees. Now we’re not speaking, and I haven’t had any ideas since. In fact, my cat is typing this whole entry for me, as I have no idea how to construct or format it. Creatively speaking, I am Terri Schiavo. Drool.

I’m also sorry for not renewing my husband’s library books. They were due yesterday, and now he has $4.25 in fines. There is no excuse for my stupidity in forgetting to renew them, except that I stupidly renewed all my books two weeks before they were due, thereby fooling my credulous brain into thinking that I’d renewed all the books we’d checked out between us. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

(You might think it odd that I’m responsible for renewing my husband’s library books as well as mine. I consider it one of my few wifely duties, along with replacing the toilet paper roll and occasionally making him change his underwear. The rest of the time, it’s all screaming and flying crockery. He mostly remembers to duck.)

Apology #3 is for wearing skirts all the time, like the child-of-a-flower-child I am. Here I sit, spouting my socialist reform theories and wearing a sequin-studded linen skirt made by half-starved, overworked teenage girls from Guatemala. Smash Mouth was right; fashion is smashin’ the true meaning of it.

My fourth apologia concerns the Toaster Debacle that took place earlier this morning. My toast just wouldn’t come out right, so, taking advantage of the three huge loaves of bread just sitting there doing nothing, I decided to conduct a few tests with the toaster settings. As it turns out, all those numbers on the toaster dial mean squat; our toaster has two levels: Lightly Tanned and Incinerated. I’m sorry that I filled the kitchen with smoke. I’m sorry that I wasted half a loaf of bread. And I’m sorry that I paid ten bucks each to have my dead rodent pets cremated when it turns out I could just have crammed them into a slot in the Kitchen Cremator. Heck, I could even have saved the ashes in the crumb tray.

Yes, I’m an insensitive bastard. I’m sorry for that, too.