Tizzy

Hiya everybody! (And a special "hello" to my new followers of this Blog. Thank you.) Oh my, I just thought of why the word "followers" feels so familiar to me and why they are something I should never have. David Koresh had followers. Jim Jones had followers. Charles Manson had followers. Eesh. I can only promise you that Janet Reno and the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms will NOT burn you or you loved ones to a crisp. I will NEVER ask you or make you drink Kool-Aid (or any other beverage or food product for that matter.) And I will NEVER make you want to go out murdering strangers just for the hell of it. I will NEVER ask you to murder anyone you know who damned well deserves it either.

Yesterday, I drove myself into a hysterical tizzy. (As I glance at my last sentence, the word "hysterical" is awfully well-chosen.) There are no longer many ways in which I can carry out my hysterical tizzies. This one, thank goodness, was caused by my new (new is all relative here- new for me means since 2007) inability to keep computer files (and probably any other files) straight. Fortunately for me, I could have this tizzy sitting down with the computer on my lap for hours on end. Until now, I've never had a tizzy in place. That was sort of cool, but not the tizzy itself.

Tizzies suck. Left to my own devices, I'd still have the computer on my lap refusing to relinquish it before I straighten all of this out. What is "this?" "This" refers to the many files I've created for edited chunks of my book. Thank God for my sane and extremely patient husband who has (well he doesn't have to, but he does anyway) to listen to me as I dial up my sense of panic and say things like, "I've ruined your life." "No honey, you haven't". "Rich probably hates me now." "No honey, I'm sure he doesn't." (FYI, for those new to the blog, Rich is a dear friend from school who is a professional editor. He is editing my book- a tell-all family history from 1900-1945. Didn't think you could write a tell-all from the first half of the twentieth century, but you can. I have the evidence to prove it.)

I come from a family of crazy Hungarians. Hungarians are barbarians, and they are proud of this tradition. (They still name children "Attila." How cute.) I think they're real honest-to-goodness sybarites. The Ottoman Turks occupied Hungary for a time and built sumptuous baths. When the Turks were finally driven out, the baths stayed. the locals liked the baths. A lot. They built more. They recognized a good thing when they saw one. Puritans, they were not.

Budapest has baths galore. Hungarians drink wine until they're sobbing at the table while the "gypsy" musicians play on. And the fantastic food, and pastry...they've got it down. Too bad they always picked the wrong team. They were always on the losing side. Maybe they preferred it that way. It added another dimension to the sobbing.

Back to my book...our matriarch was off her rocker which doesn't do the rest of us descended from her much good. The book is named Since When and this Blog is supposed to be about the book. Fat chance. It appears it will rear its head on occasion as a prop for me. Some prop. It will be the death of me yet.

But I swore to myself that today would be the day to remove some of parenthetical phrases of which I'm way too fond. And also to find all the crap I missed the first time around. Sha, you'd have a field day.

If nothing else I'm not in a hysterical tizzy. Not yet, anyway.