Hacked Off

I have just spent nearly 2 hours getting back into my Hotmail account after some jacka$$ hacked into my account and sent emails to everyone in my contacts--and it wasn't the first time either.  I feel violated.  I'm not a swearing woman but I was really tempted to make my new password "f**khackers."  I didn't.  What is wrong with people?  Do they need jobs?  Do they need detention?  Do they need electroshock?  Gah!  Can you say "global thermonuclear war"?  Remember what happened to Matthew Broderick?  Oh, wait, he ended up saving the world.  Nevermind.  I still think hackers are total doodooheads.  I'm tired of working, tired of having to do anything but loll around, eat bad things, and do what I want to do when I want to.  I know it's just a passing brutz (a brutz is a pout but bigger, more all-encompassing) but still I could manage a good old running, stomping, screaming fit right about now.  I should probably go out and mow the lawn.  Plop a straw hat on my head and vent my pique walking up and down, up and down, back and forth for an hour sweating like a hog, and shortening weeds.  Weeds is all that's growing out there.  They make our lawn look like those hideous, semi-hairless dogs with tufts of hair growing in ten directions  and only in a few places on their saggy and crepe-y looking skin.  Uck, uck, uck.  I can't just mow the parts that need it.  Can't weave around only mowing the tall stuff, that'd make weird paths and look worse than the tufts of weeks.  Did I tell you we've got corn growing in the lawn?  We do.  I put out field corn for the squirrels trying to give them something other than the birdfeeders to play with.  They bury the kernels and some sprout.  So, gotta mow the squirrel corn. (Okay, what else can I wax misanthropic about?)  I cast on a preemie hat at knitting on Friday night and finished it last night before bed.  Knitting it made my left thumb hurt, made me mad.  And unscrewing the dog tie-out from the backyard yesterday made my right wrist ache.  Ack!  It's not fair when things I like to do, things I want to do make me hurt. I even wear my wrist supports when I sleep to help my wrists not hurt.  Not fair at all.  (feeling around in my psyche to see what else I can whine about...)  I guess that's it.  For now.  Today's Photo A Day theme is "lunch" so I had to wait until I had mine to post this.  Here's the makings for a batch of pesto hummus for next week's work lunches.  A schmear of hummus on a sandwich thin topped with cucumber slices and Roma tomato slices is a great lunch, a great lunch.  Mmm.

July 8--India, Mughal Period, Dagger.  Over and over, like a machine, Ravi pulled the blade down the hide strop.  He had used  a whetstone to hone the dagger's edge and now he was refining it.  The steel blade caught the light and flashed into his eyes, he held just the right angle with each stroke.  He sat on the same bench his master had sat on when Ravi was the apprentice and now another boy sat at the grinding wheel sharpening the peasants' ploys and knives as he had when he was a boy.  There was no way that his apprentice would lay hands on a blade as fine as the dagger Ravi worked on.  Even though the weapon was topped with gold and rubies and primarily worn at ceremonies, it was still a dagger.  A dagger needed to be ready to fulfill its destiny just as a man must fulfill his.

I'm off to do... something.  Durwood's napping so I won't be mowing.  Maybe I'll save that treat until after work tomorrow.  Yeah, that'd be good.  Ciao.
--Barbara