Monday Morning Mamma H: Of Ennui and Douches

Truth be told, Mamma H and I share some things in common. I have a real feel for the ennui she's feeling; I was born with itchy feet and an itchy mind. It isn't that I bore easily; I don't, but I need dozens of things to do and deadlines and pressure, a steady hum and thrum, or, well,  I do right poorly with empty time. So I feel for her, although I'm blessed to be less than half her age and still believe there's lots I haven't seen and lots left to learn. I reckon Mamma H would agree there's always more to learn, but she's a bit jaded when it comes to folks, having seen a heap of dumbasses in her time. You'll see, though, if you'll read her piece, that she might feel like she's seen it all in her time, but she's still raring to go and find a way to have fun with it. 

I figure she's got the right of it there. She's an optimist and so am I. We might not be able to fix them, show them, bring them to the light, but we can shine a light on them and have a bit of fun at the same time. It's a three ring circus, folks, that's for damn true. So, you might as well get some popcorn and enjoy the show. If we can't laugh, find the humor, and the joy, what's the point?

Of Ennui and Douches

Mamma H here; the Raisin, bless him, is sleeping off the last bit of loving. Man didn't learn nothing from our mad dash through the town in the back of Thelma's pickup.

Lordy, I'm done old enough I seen everything at least three times around. Got me more ennui and more douchebags and asshats around than an old broad can about stand. Ain't enough blackberry wine to deal with it, that's for damn true, and it just ain't right. I don't mind the excitement, but something new at this old age would be a sight for sore eyes.

It seems like it's the same old damn stuff, round and round again. In other words, once a dumbass, always a dumbass. Now, sure and there's some inventive ways of being a dumbass upon occasion and I can't say I didn't find the fellar with the whuppin religion somewhat interesting, but the fact is, I knew his daddy, and his daddy had one of them, too, only he confined it to the bedroom, if ya ken me.

A gal gets to the overly ripe age of 90 something and she expects some ease. Now, I ain't complaining, mind you. I'm damned glad to be still kicking. Even more glad to have the Raisin beside me and more, if ya ken me.

It's just that it wears at a body, until you feel yourself wound tighter than Willa waitin on the folks to get their morning paper so she can let up her pent up Bully, you know? Ain't been no ease here at all. And yet it ain't the none of it new to me. Thelma and Louise are busy little beavers, wandering the town and putting out the various fires that folks keep metaphorically (and not) setting, and every now and then I get roped into dealing with some of the overflow issues. Lord, I'm hoping to see something new for a change, like folks coming to their senses, getting the douchebaggery knocked out of em, but the truth is, once a douche, always a douche. Looky here, Mamma H just calls em true. Ain't no point in mincing them words none.

Ain't enough blackberry wine for me to deal with all the asshats that have collectively decided to descend on Stink Creek. The Sisters up there at the Perpetual Agony Hospital and Emporium got the grand old idea to extend their market shares and offer themselves up as a fat clinic and drug rehab. So, we've got folks coming from far and wide to get themselves some Sisterly love and fixin up.

Of course, that means Thelma and Louise are even busier than usual, rounding up these folks and making em feel welcome, as the sisters had the grand idea that most of the folks could be outpatients. They got hold of some of them trailers that were left over from the hurricane a few years back and they set up a trailer park right aside of their Subway at the base of the hill. Now, they also arranged with the Church and Bar of the Holy Spirit and Spirits, pastored and bartended by Reverend Porter, to run a van out and back so the outpatients could socialize and spiritualize with the Stink Creek citizens.

Yeah, that's just what you need in a town of folks you've already seen are diverse folks is a couple hundred more with some significant issues and a van running em into town for bibles and booze. It's a match made in heaven. Thelma and Louise have done been deputized; it's gotten that bad. The sisters wait til the folks are good and in a pickle and convert them outpatients to inpatients. They let Milo work the day shift and then go back to his room at night as he ain't quite worked out all his issues. Him and Luther are doing some chicken therapy together. Luther's learning to share the chickens and Milo's learning not to scream and freak out when he takes them. It's a right interesting therapy to watch happen, for damn true.

Once the outpatients are converted to inpatients, the sisters bus in a new set of outpatients. We're in boom times in Stink Creek. We got folks coming in and opening up shops to cater to the overeaters and druggies. We've got wooporiums opening, offering special magic water to cure the overeating; folks with crystals and bunches of dried grass coming and setting up tents on the town square to fix the druggies. And we've got barbecuers bringing their big smokers and cooking by the whole hog. We've even got some Freudians who've come round, set up shingle. Been a long time since I done seen Stink Creek in boom times like these, and I tell you, if it were new to the eye, I might not be feeling me so much ennui. It's the same damn thing. People believing tomfoolery to be real, and asshats taking advantage of a body's willingness to believe.

Ain't nothing new under the sun is what I fear me. And ain't no one hardly upset over the nonsense because for once everyone who wants a job in Stink Creek has one. The sisters are hiring right and left. Hell, I may have to hobble my way on up and get me one of them jobs, too. They got a screaming therapy up there and they's looking for a ringleader. Hee. I can scream at them, maybe help em see their inner dumbass.

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