I gotta get a life.

Yet another journal page, but can I really call it a journal if I don't leave any room to write? I am a stickler for things being a certain way which is why collage always was so hard for me. I kept expecting things to have a meaning rather than just for decorative purposes.
Which brings me to the internet again and why I have go to get a life. Other than our clients, my husband and the sons I have little or no contact with the outside world and so my view has become internet narrowed and I get all of my interaction from there.
And being as anal as I am, the internet very often bugs me.
Not the internet itself, I know it's not some entity, it it was, it'd probably have a terribly bad breath and a snotty nose and would wear its shorts pulled up to its armpits and black socks with sandals.
There is a memorial site that I visit nightly. Don't know why other than I believe that as long as people remember your name you will live on and so I'd like to think that my
visiting will help someone 'live' on. It's a site that is mostly British and I wonder what the heck they are teaching in British scholls because it certainly isn't spelling, English or Grammar.

Now I know I am a terrible speller and that I should use spell check but if I can't even come close to the correct spelling, spell check is of no use. I know I transpose letters in a word but that's because I'm usually in a hurry.
HOWEVER and it is a big HOWEVER if I were writing up a memorial site I would make certain everything is just so. I wouldn't spell nephew as nefew, your as ur, theirs as theres, think for thing. That's bad enough but I ran across one memorial to a child that was so badly written that it looked almost as if it were a farce. The guy who wrote the memorial using the word nefew also said that when the child died, the post MORTON could give them no reason for his death. The PRESHUSH boy would always be in THEYRE FORTS. The last bit made me think of some game of cowboys and indians along with one of those log forts.

Last night someone wrote that their sister PASTED away. Again my head leads me to somone sitting on the floor with one of those once upon a time jars of paste, the kind with the brush fastened to the inside of the lid. The kind of paste I'm sure most, if not all of us, ate at one time. I wonder if they still make that stuff. Or maybe the sister that pasted away is now a wallpaper hanger on the other side, jazzing up heaven's waiting room with the latest in angelic wallpaper.

I wish I could grab those areful memproials and neaten them up a bit . It's like, when I worked in the library and went to Blockbuster with the kids and it drove me mad that things were not jus in Loose alphabetical order but they hadn't even FLIRTED with the alphabet. I so wanted to alphabetize them but I didn't.

So this is why I need a life. Why I need to get out and among humans, only I don't quite know how to go about it. I used to be funny but that was because I dealt with the public daily. Now it's only the husband, sons and dogs who fill my life and how often can I get away with poking fun at them.

Geez this turned into a pity poor me and I hadn't planned on that at all. Sorry.