Just Call Me "Seven of Nine"

We are the Borg.
Lower your shields and surrender your ships. We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Your culture will adapt to service us. Resistance is futile.

I've been having some of those days.

Actually, I think I might be having a whole month of those days, but they've all been packed into the last day and a half.

You know the kind. The days where you sorta realize that resistance is futile, and you'd probably rather be assimilated anyway. (My apologies to those who do not have Sci-Fi addicted husbands, and have not learned by osmosis more than they ever wanted to know about a wide variety of Star Trek spin-offs. Also? If you are one of those lucky people, you probably didn't understand today's title. Don't even worry about it, k? )

I'm having trouble caring enough to resist.


Well, it's not that I don't care, it's more like the control I feel is about equal to the control one would have, say, chasing feathers in a whirlwind, which incidentally, is something I had the fun of doing earlier today. Only it wasn't feathers. The flying mess was a stack of about 25 little fliers that some lazy flier deliverer had given up on and tossed on my porch. Yes, resistance was definitely futile.

It's great big things, like the economy, the frozen credit, and the way the government is running the country into the ground (and has been for a long time).

It's personal things, like my body refuses to get back on a running training schedule. And of course there's the realization yet again, that really no matter how hard I work today, the laundry will never ever be done, and I will probably have to cook dinner and clean the kitchen again tomorrow night.

It's the English teacher at school, who has the kids so intimidated that they won't talk to him about issues they are having, and they are absolutely convinced that if a parent gets involved in any way, there will be retribution. The students are supposed to "take responsibility for their own education" and not send their parents in to "fight their battles". I mean, it's not like she's being tortured, it's just that he was mega annoyed, and kinda slamming things around because she didn't tell him in advance that she was not going to watch the R Rated movie he had scheduled for today.

Thing is, I had enough of a reaction to the discussion of the bully teacher - that I'm sure if things get worse in the classroom, I will probably not hear about it. Yeah, so add Mother of the Year to the list of things I should just give up on.


I know it's just a string of bad days. It's a phase. There are thousands - millions - even, who would be thrilled to step in to one of my bad days and live this life.

Just add ungrateful and whiny to the list and from there I think yesterday I would have been willing to just go ahead and lower my shields and surrender my ships.

I've been hearing the whispers in one ear
"resistance is futile"

And the other ear hears
"Arm the photon torpedoes! We're going in!"

It's just a funk.

I know that:
things will be ok; I really do love my job; and children should learn to handle their own problems.

But some days I wonder if I want to battle another day.

On the other hand, I just remembered the way the Borg were eventually conquered, and I think I might be on to something there.

See? Who says life isn't one big Star Trek episode!?