Insane in the Membrane . . . Gone Insane, Got Propane!

Whatever happened to Cypress Hill anyway?  Probably all working at a Quickie Mart by now and destined for an MTV Rockumentary of some kind in the near future.  The “where are they now” programs always illicit a hearty giggle or two on my part.  Nothing like seeing a woeful fall from grace for those one hit wonders that rode the ignorant pop culture wave into stardom.  Somehow they all seem to have the same back story.  They came from nothing, wagered their fame and income on some two bit agent and end up penniless and doing public service announcements on public access channels well after most sane people have called it a night.  The best of them seem to find their way to such epic programs as “Dancing with the Stars” and the like.  Clearly, they use the term “Stars” loosely.  None of them can sing or act for that matter, so what makes Americans compelled to tune in to find out if they can dance?  It still stuns me what some people will waste their time and grey matter on in the name of entertainment.

At any rate, the truly big news for the week is that propane has been delivered and the re-heating of our frozen lifestyle has commenced.  The cold has absolutely crippled us over the past week or so and to begin to thaw is a wonderful feeling that is bittersweet.  Like molten hot magma pouring from a volcano’s center after an eruption, our life has calmed significantly over the past year and things already seem to creep along at an agonizing pace.  As the lava has become chilled and the pace has slowed to that of molasses we find ourselves restless . . . bored even.  I hate that word by the way . . . “bored”.  I demand that my children never use it, but being confined to one or two rooms without an ounce of external stimuli has me completely frazzled.  We have become dormant.  Essentially hibernating as the bears do, re-awakening for spring is a painful process.  We are hungry.  Hungry for activity, for life to commence once more.

I keep trying to fire up the generator and bring life back to our house, but the flame seems to just flicker for a moment and then extinguish itself in utter defiance.  I only hope that removing ourselves from the house for a week and throwing ourselves down a mountain slope will break us free from this prison.  The paint has hardended on my palate and my pen has dried of all its ink.  It is frustrating and though my desire to break free is strong, it seems my will power has weakened from the chill.  I have refilled my pen and with this entry am attempting to clear my throat so I can speak again.  I refreshed my palate and threw some paint on a canvas with mediocre results.  Both projects seem to hang in the balance with my next move.  The new mix of color has me thinking that a re-paint might be in order and I feel compelled to start writing my next entry before this one is complete.  Perhaps this will be the turning point.  They say that if you find yourself stuck in quicksand, the worst thing you can do is struggle.  You will only sink faster that way.  Instead I will remain calm and attept to “float” my way to freedom.  Until next time.  R.