Yuck, bleah, and boo hoo

Ok, so it's that day again. For the second year in a row, I will avoid the TV, the radio, and any media that is not filled with cartoons, crossword puzzles, soap opera idiots and back issues of anything kitschy from my childhood.



I'm presently winning a bid on an old Superman magazine from 1978 and I'm very excited---it doesn't look like anyone wants this thing besides me. Additional joy comes from the fact that Lynn Holly Johnson, that cutesy blonde bugger from the deliciously horrendous piece of skating tripe known as "Ice Castles", is on the cover as well. I will now feather my hair, spin my Andy Gibb records, and curl up inside my Holly Hobbie sleeping bag (yes, it's in tatters, and I still love it.)



Anything, and I mean anything, is better than this horrible sense of dread that permeates me when I even think of that plane slamming into the second tower. It's just too much. Not that I want to forget, I don't think I could. But I'd like to give my brain a break. After two years of processing such horrible images in my head, I still need to not think about it. Denial? No. Acceptance with a painful headache--that's still the worst.



On a lighter note, one year ago today I brought home Kashi, the mad kitten. She was a great distraction on such a solemn day and still is. I remember picking her up from the family that found her and her litter, and I walked to the vet for her shots. People smiled left and right that I had this squiggling little splotchy black and orange "thing" crawling up my neck. She got a clean bill of health after the usual exam, and we went home to sit on the floor for 2 hours until she got the hang of eating Iams food off a baby spoon. No radio, no paper, no TV. I think I'll do the same this year.