On a lighter (and fully machine washable) note...

Today I ordered underpants from the Internet.

The Internet has kindly agreed to send me some underpants sometime in May.

Actually I went on the Victoria's Secret website in search of bras and underpants (guess what...they have some), and after looking at dozens of pictures of frilly and lacy and embroidered lingerie with ribbons and bows and tassels and puckers and pleats guess what I ordered...

That's right...plain cotton underpants. I think I am the most reasonable (read: dull as carpeting) girl in the whole world.

Perhaps I was mesmerized by the selection of significantly less reasonable underwear...and when it came time to place my order the only thing that came to mind (through the frilly, gauzy fog) was the same thing I always buy: plain cotton underpants. But I am comfortable with my routines and I doubt I shall be disappointed.

Now I DO realize that since what I bought is available at any number of local underpants retailers, I could have made the same purchase here and received my goods immediately. But since I can wait and I wanted my plain cotton underpants to have an air of sophistication to them, I went ahead.

And I also hesitated for a second when it dawned on me that I would not be able to try them on, but then I realized that I never try on underwear anyway - I just buy a small (because that is what I would like the parts of me WEARING the underpants to be) and if they don't fit they go into the drawer of clothing items that I will be wearing when I wake up one morning with the body of a supermodel. On ME I mean...not dead from a heroin overdose beside me, just so we're clear.

And I wanted to have matching boring bras to go with my parade of boring underpants.

Next week...opaque tights (you all might need seatbelts for that one).

Also, please don't tell my son that I blogged about underpants. I will have no credibility the next time we are at the Olive Garden.

No relief.

I have never kept a diary, but at the times in my life so far when I have hurt the most or been the most afraid or the angriest, I have written down my thoughts and then I have been able to move on to other things.

This is what I am trying to do. I have started this post 4 times so far and I can't let it go yet.

I was watching the news at Easter this year, and in the midst of all of the other stuff the anchor mentioned that it was in the first week of April in 1994 that a genocide started in Rwanda. I couldn't remember what happened or why, and so I looked it up.

And in the first few drafts of this post I gave a little history lesson about what happened, but I have since figured out that what I have been choking back for a week now has very little to do with Rwanda. And that if you found this blog you can find out about it for yourself. And maybe you should.

I was devastated by the details of this slaughter, and I focused on that for a few days because I thought that was what was affecting me so much. But now I think it's something larger and more vague and impossible to fix.

It's the suffering of other people, and I have not done enough about it.

I have done nothing about it.

I have ignored the suffering of hundreds of thousands of people at a time, and I have ignored the people who were put RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME one by one for me to notice them.

I ignored them because I had to be somewhere or because I didn't have enough money or because I was not sure what to say or if I should touch them or because I was distracted by my own pain or because I just didn't notice. It doesn't matter why...to them the result was the same. I did nothing.

And I am afraid of not doing any better next time.

And I am afraid that even if I try I am not enough to make a difference.

There is a lyric from a song by Manic Street Preachers (remixed hauntingly by David Usher with Brilliant Beast) that has been in my head for days:

"...and if you tolerate this
then your children will be next."

I feel hopeless and afraid and sorry.
There is no clever ending or resolution here.

A graceful swan I am not...

Tonight I got dressed up in my FANCY new big brown boots and went to dinner at a VERY posh local restaurant to celebrate my BEAUTIFUL ANGEL FRIEND's birthday. (I have been over-emphasizing ALL night and I CAN"T seem to stop so bear with me as I attempt to exercise some self control...).

At this lovely restaurant they served us steamed and salted edamame, and after attempting to eat the ENTIRE pod (which you are not supposed to do with edamame and if you do you look like you are as cultured as a troll) I then proceeded to enjoy this particular appetizer in the manner I believe it was intended...by placing the pod's end in my mouth and delicately squeezing out one bean, while the other shoots out the side of the pod between my fingers and bounces off the cheek of the dinner guest beside me. And then because I enjoyed the edamame so VERY much I repeated this process about 8 or 15 times...with the same result. Well that's not true...I think I got some in his shirt pocket and I found a couple in my handbag when I got home.

But being that I am clearly not a graceful swan (those who know and care for me have already had to come to terms with this) I was in good company. The dinner guest beside me smacked the dinner guest beside him in the forehead with a knife (BY ACCIDENT as in NOT EVEN MEANING TO!!) and my beautiful angel friend nearly brawled with the table beside us over the birthday pictures that she was taking (lots).

I volunteered to help with the smack-talk but there were no takers.