Has it been ten years already?

So it was the tenth anniversary of the housefire other day, and I got my people choked up by being the first to mention it, summoning up for them their own unpleasant memories of that time.  I remember that time, I remember having worked on writing a novel that morning before the fire, then I'm thinking a few hours later, "well, the computer is gone".

I was on a sublingual mood stabilizer at the time, and I generally didn't get bothered by much.  Even watching all my worldly possession burn, my mother crying her eyes out, and my father urging on the firemen.

So we finally did bury DBizzle.  And we got to hear from some of his loved ones, his other loved ones, that is.  I just can't help but remember how full of life and happy he seemed just days earlier standing in his Grandma's kitchen talking about getting to see his daughter after a few months away.

I was asking if KT liked younger men, you know, my horndog way, mind never straying far from the main course.  I mean, why get all bent about appetizers?  I mean, I'm not the one who emailed-in wanted to see Megyn Kelly's buttocks.  My attitude was more like, "I'm right here, little gal."  But they have various travails and such forth, careers and side hustles, I mean they put 6-8 years of college then hit tv like they're on fire or something.  I remember so Jenna trying to stand out, before I started satirizing her news stories.

I'll sell you for a handful of sheckels, little Jenna.  Little Kristen.  You know, in the files you've seen, that I don't get all bent about bad things happening to people I never met, except maybe Breonna Taylor.  That stung a bit.  Law-abiding Jane Q, shots through the door, and all that.  Not the happy stuff about adopting puppies and children, you know?  But instead, random people getting the long kiss goodbye, and the shove-off on the long swim to China.

Just plugging holes here, little Jenna.  Little Kristen.  Poppingjay.  Putting those square pegs near the square holes, like the nice orderly asks, and they got the video of the whole thing, how adept I am at puzzles, but I can't quite get my own life in order.  Its all misgivings and such, writing letters to strangers about things that happened years ago.

Yeah, my burning house was on front page of the June 13, 2010 edition of the newspaper, and it was like, "oh look, my nightmare!"  How very cool.  A firefighter bending-over in front of our burnt-out storage shed.  I'm in the Virginia Slims ad, remarking on many things, but imparting this above all, "you've come a long way, baby."

I mean, me getting mad.  Me watching them watching me watch them, and all that.  But in the end, that really gets me nowhere, you understand?  I have my own rows in the garden that need to be tended daily, hoeing the beans and all that, ant poison and such.  Then I bet, the power that be would be crapping themselves thinking that I had stopped just watching them all day, and started worrying about my own groove, "laying in the cut", singing my own song, one which they struggled to put in context, and would be far less certain about any meaning therein that they could apply to their own lives.  I mean, jump on my nuts Karen.

And that's the difference between Trump and me.  He paid his gets.  I make my gets pay me.  I'm angry for other reasons, I guess, and pa didn't give me any buildings.  He gave me a Hyundai Sonata that I later sold for 300$.