Idiot Moi

No, I'm not an idiot because I haven't been able to write that send off for my mom I want to, have to, need to write. It's not because now I've got to write one for Molly Ivins, too, but it seems wrong to do hers before my mom's. It's not because I don't know what to write about the latest News-Press insanity--three more folks fired yesterday, two down and one on the way today--since mostly I just want to shout obscenities. Perhaps this is the ultimate McCaw plan: keep being so outrageous that her critics can only respond with stunned silence at her sheer meanness and stupidity.

No, I've earned my stupidity quite directly, with one quick rip thorugh the middle of an envelope. Like many of you, I'm sure, we get lots of offers from folks to refinance the house. Like many of you, most likely, you just rip these in two and put them into the recycle bin. Unlike many of you, though, I was waiting for a check involved with my mom's estate, and the Merrill Lynch return address didn't jog my memory fast enough to stop my ripping. Sure, there are too many reasons I wasn't thinking well, including: 1) I don't think well, 2) I've averaged 4 hours sleep a night for almost 2 weeks, 3) my alcohol consumption might also have averaged 4 a night for almost 2 weeks, 4) it's a check I didn't want to have to get, after all, a cashing out I don't want to own up to.