Showing posts with label Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Life. Show all posts
Monday, September 26, 2011
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Mortality
A friend has gone in for a triple-bypass...
I haven't heard from his wife, to let me know what's transpired.
I have hope, and even a bit of 'faith'...
But it reminds me, that in the long run we are all a little ephemeral beyond how we influence those we interact with.
I haven't heard from his wife, to let me know what's transpired.
I have hope, and even a bit of 'faith'...
But it reminds me, that in the long run we are all a little ephemeral beyond how we influence those we interact with.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Test
This is a test of the emergency-broadcast system...this is only a test...
if this were a real emergency,
this post would be an off topic rant about politics or social agendas from Exitus...
this is only a test.
if this were a real emergency,
this post would be an off topic rant about politics or social agendas from Exitus...
this is only a test.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Hash Browns, and other wild accusations...
So, McDonald's has decided to sabotage my marriage.
I was tasked with producing a 'Big Breakfast, w/Hotcakes' [no sausage].
I drove, to satisfy the estrogenical cravings...one does NOT challenge the cravings of a mad woman (pregnancy qualifies, I promise).
I purchased the contraband.
I looked in said bag, confirming (through the now convenient 'see through lid') that indeed, there was no vile sausage (on, near OR even within the same bag, would pollute the fluffy goodness of pre-steamed fake-cakes).
I even saw the butt end of a Hash-Brown pocket, and evidence of my sausage McMuffin's existence (yes, the irony of prior admonishments followed by my own pork-laden perfidy, did not escape me).
I returned home...gleeful that I could chalk up a 'mission-accomplished' for husbandly-nicities (this being necessary, as a man must bank as much equity as possible to bring up during labor...or he shan't survive the experience).
Wife unpacks bag, begins grumbling, and then turns...shaking an utterly empty Hash-Brown packet at me...accusations abound.
Even with the evidence of NO grease inside the pocket, I am incapable of proving innocence.
There is no smell of hash-brown in the bag, in the car or on my breath.
It doesn't matter, as the empty package is laid in front of my place-mat...accusingly...maddeningly.
I can hear it's rustle, the crinkle of waxed paper...
I buried it, you see, beneath a napkin...
yet I hear it's tell-tale crinkling
Louder, Louder, LOUDER...
Yet truly, I AM innocent...but she doesn't believe.
I was tasked with producing a 'Big Breakfast, w/Hotcakes' [no sausage].
I drove, to satisfy the estrogenical cravings...one does NOT challenge the cravings of a mad woman (pregnancy qualifies, I promise).
I purchased the contraband.
I looked in said bag, confirming (through the now convenient 'see through lid') that indeed, there was no vile sausage (on, near OR even within the same bag, would pollute the fluffy goodness of pre-steamed fake-cakes).
I even saw the butt end of a Hash-Brown pocket, and evidence of my sausage McMuffin's existence (yes, the irony of prior admonishments followed by my own pork-laden perfidy, did not escape me).
I returned home...gleeful that I could chalk up a 'mission-accomplished' for husbandly-nicities (this being necessary, as a man must bank as much equity as possible to bring up during labor...or he shan't survive the experience).
Wife unpacks bag, begins grumbling, and then turns...shaking an utterly empty Hash-Brown packet at me...accusations abound.
Even with the evidence of NO grease inside the pocket, I am incapable of proving innocence.
There is no smell of hash-brown in the bag, in the car or on my breath.
It doesn't matter, as the empty package is laid in front of my place-mat...accusingly...maddeningly.
I can hear it's rustle, the crinkle of waxed paper...
I buried it, you see, beneath a napkin...
yet I hear it's tell-tale crinkling
Louder, Louder, LOUDER...
Yet truly, I AM innocent...but she doesn't believe.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Cats and Baby Training...
So, I think the 'delightful' feline has decided to give me her version of training-for-baby. She doesn't think in terms of my already rampant insomnia, she's just trying to do her part.
11pm, I slide off into slumber. Not fitfully, but a little tossing and turning. My norm for sleep. The wife, bless her pregnant little soul, twitches into sleep...further arresting my normal nocturnal rhythm.
1:30am; the cat decides she wishes to aid the east in its time of crisis. How, may you ask? Well she doesn't know either, though she does know she wants to get there...by digging her way through her litter box. Little comprehension of distance, she just 'knows' Japan is on the other side of the world, and that the world is under her litter box. She digs...and digs...and digs...sounding all the world like an earth mover breaking up concrete. Survival instinct kicks in (something I usually think she lacks), and she stops right around the time I achieve full consciousness and begin to contemplate her demise.
2:30am; Crinkle Balls (scientific name, I'm sure). Those foil balls that make noises a cat finds irresistible. Those toys that she loses, with great regularity, beneath the stove. Those toys she has lost all of in the last few days, and whined at us to find for her. We've learned to NOT find any for her near bed time. Apparently she has decided the entertainment of my crackling joints (and grunts of ire) were worth missing out on (sounds she enjoys thoroughly as I root around under said stove for her every morn) in the interest of my training. She has performed a feat worthy of great spite, and acquired one from the dusty depths of our kitchen cave, on her own. She seemed to have quietly, and with great malice-aforethought, carried it gently up the stairs...quietly deposited it upon the door jam and POUNCED...and POUNCED...and POUNCED. A sound, not unlike the crashing of glass to a sleep addled mind, exploded from the doorway. Adrenaline rush had me out of bed before I knew what'd hit me. She rocketed down the stairs and I, well I stumbled to the offending toy and hid it...hopefully I never remember where.
3(ish)am; Galloping. I don't know where this animal has acquired her desire to evince a sudden lack of lazy, but she HAS learned how to gallop. The downstairs sound like a Lipizzaner show.
4(ish)am; Suddenly feeling guilt at the slow growth of her waistline (winter weight you know), the cat decides to implement her excercise program. It's a stair routine. To my muddled mind, it sounds as though the Lipizzaners have moved to the stairwell... and as we all know, a cardio workout needs at LEAST 15 minutes to have an impact.
5(ish)am; My bladder summons me (though why now, and not at any of the myriad previous interruptions I don't know) and I answer its call. At the foot of the bed, the cat decides it is 'daddy play-time', and sets up in ambush. Great feet stride around the corner of the bed, as the cat's Goliath trudges near. I can envision, under the bed (now that I am up) the tail-twitch, the anticipation, the patience of the great hunter as her prey approaches...yet at 5am, all my mind is saying is 'bed...must get back to bed...sleep...must regain sleep'. I round the bottom of the bed, make my turn in preparation to crash back into a blissfull null-state, when sudden SHARPS penetrate the top of my foot...my calf...and my adrenal glands pump a quart of 'WAKE UP' into my bloodstream.
Again, the survival instinct (that I never knew existed) kicked in on the filthy feline, and she took off at Mach-5 for the downstairs. I am neither amused, nor awake enough to pursue.
6:30(ish)am; It is my day off. I have not set a single alarm. In an optimistic mindset (something that has been disabused at this juncture) the night prior, I looked forward to sleeping in until 7-8ish. I reveled in the thought.
CRASH...THUMP...CLAW...'mrowp'...the cat has leaped to the top of the dresser at the foot of MY side of the bed, and decided to claw her way through curtain, and glass, to get at the birds on the other side of the bedroom window. At this point, my body decides to override my mind's attempt to stay asleep. Adrenaline flows, once again, and I am up...hissing...and chasing feline before my brain can tell the rest of me to just 'shut up and go back to sleep'. The cat has managed, before my feet even touch the floor, to cover the length of the bedroom (without touching the floor) in the time it takes me to blink. I fall back into the tortuous teasing device called 'bed'.
6:35am; Dammit...I'm awake.
I stumble downstairs to make coffee in a desperate attempt to compensate for lack of sleep.
The cat follows me down the stairs (where the hell WAS she?). She looks up at me with desire, and follows me all the way...to the drawer...that contains her toys.
I consider killing her...
I begin to reach for her...
and then I see an empty food dish. Utterly empty. Not even dust.
I let her live.
You see, I gave her too much credit. I thought SHE was trying to train me for incoming infant insomnia...
but no,
It was her Mother, my Wife.
I stood there, contemplating going upstairs and smothering her with a pillow (as she never ONCE awoke last night, as I battled cats, rampaging Huns and horse shows)...
Sometime, in the next 18years, my wife needs to take our child out and buy it whatever it wants...to thank it for saving her life.
11pm, I slide off into slumber. Not fitfully, but a little tossing and turning. My norm for sleep. The wife, bless her pregnant little soul, twitches into sleep...further arresting my normal nocturnal rhythm.
1:30am; the cat decides she wishes to aid the east in its time of crisis. How, may you ask? Well she doesn't know either, though she does know she wants to get there...by digging her way through her litter box. Little comprehension of distance, she just 'knows' Japan is on the other side of the world, and that the world is under her litter box. She digs...and digs...and digs...sounding all the world like an earth mover breaking up concrete. Survival instinct kicks in (something I usually think she lacks), and she stops right around the time I achieve full consciousness and begin to contemplate her demise.
2:30am; Crinkle Balls (scientific name, I'm sure). Those foil balls that make noises a cat finds irresistible. Those toys that she loses, with great regularity, beneath the stove. Those toys she has lost all of in the last few days, and whined at us to find for her. We've learned to NOT find any for her near bed time. Apparently she has decided the entertainment of my crackling joints (and grunts of ire) were worth missing out on (sounds she enjoys thoroughly as I root around under said stove for her every morn) in the interest of my training. She has performed a feat worthy of great spite, and acquired one from the dusty depths of our kitchen cave, on her own. She seemed to have quietly, and with great malice-aforethought, carried it gently up the stairs...quietly deposited it upon the door jam and POUNCED...and POUNCED...and POUNCED. A sound, not unlike the crashing of glass to a sleep addled mind, exploded from the doorway. Adrenaline rush had me out of bed before I knew what'd hit me. She rocketed down the stairs and I, well I stumbled to the offending toy and hid it...hopefully I never remember where.
3(ish)am; Galloping. I don't know where this animal has acquired her desire to evince a sudden lack of lazy, but she HAS learned how to gallop. The downstairs sound like a Lipizzaner show.
4(ish)am; Suddenly feeling guilt at the slow growth of her waistline (winter weight you know), the cat decides to implement her excercise program. It's a stair routine. To my muddled mind, it sounds as though the Lipizzaners have moved to the stairwell... and as we all know, a cardio workout needs at LEAST 15 minutes to have an impact.
5(ish)am; My bladder summons me (though why now, and not at any of the myriad previous interruptions I don't know) and I answer its call. At the foot of the bed, the cat decides it is 'daddy play-time', and sets up in ambush. Great feet stride around the corner of the bed, as the cat's Goliath trudges near. I can envision, under the bed (now that I am up) the tail-twitch, the anticipation, the patience of the great hunter as her prey approaches...yet at 5am, all my mind is saying is 'bed...must get back to bed...sleep...must regain sleep'. I round the bottom of the bed, make my turn in preparation to crash back into a blissfull null-state, when sudden SHARPS penetrate the top of my foot...my calf...and my adrenal glands pump a quart of 'WAKE UP' into my bloodstream.
Again, the survival instinct (that I never knew existed) kicked in on the filthy feline, and she took off at Mach-5 for the downstairs. I am neither amused, nor awake enough to pursue.
6:30(ish)am; It is my day off. I have not set a single alarm. In an optimistic mindset (something that has been disabused at this juncture) the night prior, I looked forward to sleeping in until 7-8ish. I reveled in the thought.
CRASH...THUMP...CLAW...'mrowp'...the cat has leaped to the top of the dresser at the foot of MY side of the bed, and decided to claw her way through curtain, and glass, to get at the birds on the other side of the bedroom window. At this point, my body decides to override my mind's attempt to stay asleep. Adrenaline flows, once again, and I am up...hissing...and chasing feline before my brain can tell the rest of me to just 'shut up and go back to sleep'. The cat has managed, before my feet even touch the floor, to cover the length of the bedroom (without touching the floor) in the time it takes me to blink. I fall back into the tortuous teasing device called 'bed'.
6:35am; Dammit...I'm awake.
I stumble downstairs to make coffee in a desperate attempt to compensate for lack of sleep.
The cat follows me down the stairs (where the hell WAS she?). She looks up at me with desire, and follows me all the way...to the drawer...that contains her toys.
I consider killing her...
I begin to reach for her...
and then I see an empty food dish. Utterly empty. Not even dust.
I let her live.
You see, I gave her too much credit. I thought SHE was trying to train me for incoming infant insomnia...
but no,
It was her Mother, my Wife.
I stood there, contemplating going upstairs and smothering her with a pillow (as she never ONCE awoke last night, as I battled cats, rampaging Huns and horse shows)...
Sometime, in the next 18years, my wife needs to take our child out and buy it whatever it wants...to thank it for saving her life.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Passing
A friend passed Friday night.
A young friend.
Is it hypocritical to feel greater grief for youth? Isn't all life sacred?
I find myself lamenting his 'goodness' most. He was just nice...not enough of those people around...yet I keep coming back to his youth. Early 20's? That's too damned young.
Smiles, even in his frustration, I come back to the smiles. It seemed like he nearly always had a smile. Job stress...School stress...other stresses...and yet I always saw the smile. Quippy posts, esoteric or anachronistic, but always there bringing ME a smile...or a retrospective thought.
The pain in his closest friends' faces, when they shared the 'news' (so vile to say it that way, like it's a story on the local stations...but it was 'news' to us in the tragic way). That killed me a little inside. Wanting to be closer to them, to be able to offer more in the way of support...and knowing I couldn't...and shame at those feelings, because it felt as though I was making it about me inside.
Helplessness...that's where it all crashes in. Can't DO anything. Just feel.
Knowing that, no matter what, I cannot even imagine the level of helplessness felt by those that were actually present when it happened.
Knowing that, no matter what, the void for his closest friends and family cannot be filled.
Knowing that nothing can be said that can wash away the pain and loss...or come out, in some fashion, a bit trite.
A youth died this weekend.
A friend passed this weekend.
A genuinely GOOD human being has left us...and we are all just a little smaller for it.
Ian,
I wish I'd been a better friend, and I hope I can be a better friend to those you were closest to.
You are missed.
A young friend.
Is it hypocritical to feel greater grief for youth? Isn't all life sacred?
I find myself lamenting his 'goodness' most. He was just nice...not enough of those people around...yet I keep coming back to his youth. Early 20's? That's too damned young.
Smiles, even in his frustration, I come back to the smiles. It seemed like he nearly always had a smile. Job stress...School stress...other stresses...and yet I always saw the smile. Quippy posts, esoteric or anachronistic, but always there bringing ME a smile...or a retrospective thought.
The pain in his closest friends' faces, when they shared the 'news' (so vile to say it that way, like it's a story on the local stations...but it was 'news' to us in the tragic way). That killed me a little inside. Wanting to be closer to them, to be able to offer more in the way of support...and knowing I couldn't...and shame at those feelings, because it felt as though I was making it about me inside.
Helplessness...that's where it all crashes in. Can't DO anything. Just feel.
Knowing that, no matter what, I cannot even imagine the level of helplessness felt by those that were actually present when it happened.
Knowing that, no matter what, the void for his closest friends and family cannot be filled.
Knowing that nothing can be said that can wash away the pain and loss...or come out, in some fashion, a bit trite.
A youth died this weekend.
A friend passed this weekend.
A genuinely GOOD human being has left us...and we are all just a little smaller for it.
Ian,
I wish I'd been a better friend, and I hope I can be a better friend to those you were closest to.
You are missed.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Paranoid?
So, the paranoia has settled back in...after having been unemployed for a year+ (let go from a place I called home) I cannot shake the constant fear of being fired from my new job.
Am I about to crash the plane, or am I on the right bus?
It becomes constant, feeds into my insomnia. Pervasive is the word...when does it shake? Is it akin to grief? Or sign of an underlying personal issue? Or maybe just a sense of 'wrong' is always a part of me when things start seeming right.
I seem paranoid about these things, but then...like clockwork...when I do, something goes wrong to reinforce that sense.
Last time it was job related, I DID get laid off. It was almost self-fulfilling that time. I felt hemmed in and under siege, and shortly thereafter was handed my papers (so to speak) by a friend. It was pain, that time...real pain. That was grief.
Recently, it was a sense of foreboding that preceded my bank account being seized. I was rescued, but it's still being sorted out and has interfered with my spouse's birthday (when will that be unmolested again?) and plans to see my son before he starts college.
And it's back...and my mind has convinced me it's a sense of job...
Is it real? (no, dammit, I don't believe is psychic phenomena, but I do believe in the sub-conscious extrapolating off little clues we don't perceive). Or is it just a sense of memory when I am right, and no real memory of a paranoia when NOT confirmed by life experience? Selective memory so to speak.
I don't know when I'm supposed to let go, when loss of job is a past occurrence with no bearing on the now AND not a loss of identity/worth.
Where do we evaluate the now without the past?
When do I see one set of circumstances as distinctly its' own?
When do I think doing enough isn't, or when do I see too little when it's too much (or just right) and not try to accept responsibility for EVERYTHING?
Or maybe that's it? Maybe I need to let go a little?
Yet when I do that, I feel guilt.
I took a day off last week, a day off for the holiday and promptly felt discomfited and guilty...all day. ??? WTF ??? Even felt as though, while I was gone, something would go wrong that I would have been able to prevent had I been working.
Hurg?
Shades of my old job? I HATED taking days off then. HATED IT!
I don't get this...I just don't.
Am I broken? Or am I reading things on a subliminal level and extrapolating?
Am I about to crash the plane, or am I on the right bus?
It becomes constant, feeds into my insomnia. Pervasive is the word...when does it shake? Is it akin to grief? Or sign of an underlying personal issue? Or maybe just a sense of 'wrong' is always a part of me when things start seeming right.
I seem paranoid about these things, but then...like clockwork...when I do, something goes wrong to reinforce that sense.
Last time it was job related, I DID get laid off. It was almost self-fulfilling that time. I felt hemmed in and under siege, and shortly thereafter was handed my papers (so to speak) by a friend. It was pain, that time...real pain. That was grief.
Recently, it was a sense of foreboding that preceded my bank account being seized. I was rescued, but it's still being sorted out and has interfered with my spouse's birthday (when will that be unmolested again?) and plans to see my son before he starts college.
And it's back...and my mind has convinced me it's a sense of job...
Is it real? (no, dammit, I don't believe is psychic phenomena, but I do believe in the sub-conscious extrapolating off little clues we don't perceive). Or is it just a sense of memory when I am right, and no real memory of a paranoia when NOT confirmed by life experience? Selective memory so to speak.
I don't know when I'm supposed to let go, when loss of job is a past occurrence with no bearing on the now AND not a loss of identity/worth.
Where do we evaluate the now without the past?
When do I see one set of circumstances as distinctly its' own?
When do I think doing enough isn't, or when do I see too little when it's too much (or just right) and not try to accept responsibility for EVERYTHING?
Or maybe that's it? Maybe I need to let go a little?
Yet when I do that, I feel guilt.
I took a day off last week, a day off for the holiday and promptly felt discomfited and guilty...all day. ??? WTF ??? Even felt as though, while I was gone, something would go wrong that I would have been able to prevent had I been working.
Hurg?
Shades of my old job? I HATED taking days off then. HATED IT!
I don't get this...I just don't.
Am I broken? Or am I reading things on a subliminal level and extrapolating?
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Employment....
So,
it's been a year...almost to the date it's been a year.
I haven't worked.
I haven't been unemployed longer than a week since I was 16.
Do I remember how to work? (lol)
I've been offered a job.
Lower pay than I'd like, and not 100% fulltime yet...but foot in the door and personal schedule management.
Only really lacking medical at this stage...and that will happen.
Have a drug test tomorrow. I know I'll pass that, I'm too paranoid for my own entertainment. (lmao)
Step 1) Pee in a cup
Step 2)...........
Step 3) Profit
Recommended by someone I think is a friend, but definitely strikes me as honorable.
I know part of it is to save his bacon, he's running ragged, but with everyone else out there looking for jobs he didn't have to point at me.
Am I not ambitious enough? I'm taking a fairly basic job, but damnit I like to work. I like being responsible, making money for myself and others, and WORKING.
I don't really care what I'm doing at this stage, but I wonder if I ever really did.
Did it matter before?
Did anything but paying the bills, having my dignity and supporting my family matter?
Am I settling, that I am this happy with just labor?
Or do I simply crave good old fashioned work...
I'm not as excited as I thought I'd be,
but after getting close (seriously close) two other times, I think I'm not going to get all happy until I actually get my first check.
But damn, I'm as close as I've been (but once) in a year.
I want to work,
and it looks like I just might be getting to do so soon!
Now,to make it an even better day,
who wants to take my cat!?
it's been a year...almost to the date it's been a year.
I haven't worked.
I haven't been unemployed longer than a week since I was 16.
Do I remember how to work? (lol)
I've been offered a job.
Lower pay than I'd like, and not 100% fulltime yet...but foot in the door and personal schedule management.
Only really lacking medical at this stage...and that will happen.
Have a drug test tomorrow. I know I'll pass that, I'm too paranoid for my own entertainment. (lmao)
Step 1) Pee in a cup
Step 2)...........
Step 3) Profit
Recommended by someone I think is a friend, but definitely strikes me as honorable.
I know part of it is to save his bacon, he's running ragged, but with everyone else out there looking for jobs he didn't have to point at me.
Am I not ambitious enough? I'm taking a fairly basic job, but damnit I like to work. I like being responsible, making money for myself and others, and WORKING.
I don't really care what I'm doing at this stage, but I wonder if I ever really did.
Did it matter before?
Did anything but paying the bills, having my dignity and supporting my family matter?
Am I settling, that I am this happy with just labor?
Or do I simply crave good old fashioned work...
I'm not as excited as I thought I'd be,
but after getting close (seriously close) two other times, I think I'm not going to get all happy until I actually get my first check.
But damn, I'm as close as I've been (but once) in a year.
I want to work,
and it looks like I just might be getting to do so soon!
Now,to make it an even better day,
who wants to take my cat!?
Friday, October 2, 2009
Pedestrian writing
I think I have grown a bit....meh?
in the last few days/weeks on Facebook.
I am divorcing myself from it for 2 days.
Sounds minor, but I find myself reflexively going there every opportunity I get.
Not an addiction, so much, as a filler.
This blog is limited venue, and more for me to put things into print I'm thinking of.
I won't draw attention to it on the 'book' for those days either, and may only occasionally from now on (haven't decided yet).
I think part of it is due to not having my 'home' and time to myself.
I love my Mother in Law, but I am a social creature.
Roxz and I made a new friend,
I reconnected with a number of old ones,
and I have now been without real contact with them for almost 2 weeks.
I am gregarious,
I am social
and I am stifled when this happens.
I have my games, my gaming buddies...but that's on a specific schedule and not really socializing. It's fun, a hobby and an outlet.
If I had a job, it would be one thing...
If we had money, and could afford to go do things every day...
or she really wanted to socialize, but she's the antithesis of me...introverted, shy, quiet and unassuming.
So my outward reaching nature has not been fed, for damn near two weeks.
I am getting crabby, needy and absorbed.
I can handle weather based cabin fever, but this is killing me!
If this seems to be unrelated to Facebook, it's because I have been using FB as an escape when I'm home right now...and a surrogate for human interaction.
I also seem to be commenting on the stupidest things, most innocuous, and losing sight of my writing to just 'fill'.
I don't know that it really matters, but it helps me put it into print...sort out how I feel.
I may have a job, talked to someone today about it.
Mom and Dad bought me a GPS to help with the work, lotta driving...
and I can't shout it from the rooftops, because it is a 'meh' job, and I can't go out and celebrate...how much does that suck?
Griping without humour, I am trying to avoid.
Lackluster I am starting to feel.
Pissy, bitchy or plain unappreciative I am NOT trying to be.
But I am feeling tedium, and tedious...
in the last few days/weeks on Facebook.
I am divorcing myself from it for 2 days.
Sounds minor, but I find myself reflexively going there every opportunity I get.
Not an addiction, so much, as a filler.
This blog is limited venue, and more for me to put things into print I'm thinking of.
I won't draw attention to it on the 'book' for those days either, and may only occasionally from now on (haven't decided yet).
I think part of it is due to not having my 'home' and time to myself.
I love my Mother in Law, but I am a social creature.
Roxz and I made a new friend,
I reconnected with a number of old ones,
and I have now been without real contact with them for almost 2 weeks.
I am gregarious,
I am social
and I am stifled when this happens.
I have my games, my gaming buddies...but that's on a specific schedule and not really socializing. It's fun, a hobby and an outlet.
If I had a job, it would be one thing...
If we had money, and could afford to go do things every day...
or she really wanted to socialize, but she's the antithesis of me...introverted, shy, quiet and unassuming.
So my outward reaching nature has not been fed, for damn near two weeks.
I am getting crabby, needy and absorbed.
I can handle weather based cabin fever, but this is killing me!
If this seems to be unrelated to Facebook, it's because I have been using FB as an escape when I'm home right now...and a surrogate for human interaction.
I also seem to be commenting on the stupidest things, most innocuous, and losing sight of my writing to just 'fill'.
I don't know that it really matters, but it helps me put it into print...sort out how I feel.
I may have a job, talked to someone today about it.
Mom and Dad bought me a GPS to help with the work, lotta driving...
and I can't shout it from the rooftops, because it is a 'meh' job, and I can't go out and celebrate...how much does that suck?
Griping without humour, I am trying to avoid.
Lackluster I am starting to feel.
Pissy, bitchy or plain unappreciative I am NOT trying to be.
But I am feeling tedium, and tedious...
Muse
My muse has left me...
I just have no 'umph' in my typing.
The cat, damned beast that she is, has abandoned her normal vile behavior and actually been cute and tolerable.
She hasn't bitten my MIL in 2 days,
she hasn't broken anything,
and she hasn't woken me up.
My car is running,
the sun came back out today,
and Roxz and I are just kinda snuggly.
I don't have enough to complain about without delving into politics, and I'd actually become disgusted then!
Hrm...
well,
I'm bored...mostly...but not enough to bitch.
ugh...
I'm.... , perky?
What the hell's wrong with me!
;)
I just have no 'umph' in my typing.
The cat, damned beast that she is, has abandoned her normal vile behavior and actually been cute and tolerable.
She hasn't bitten my MIL in 2 days,
she hasn't broken anything,
and she hasn't woken me up.
My car is running,
the sun came back out today,
and Roxz and I are just kinda snuggly.
I don't have enough to complain about without delving into politics, and I'd actually become disgusted then!
Hrm...
well,
I'm bored...mostly...but not enough to bitch.
ugh...
I'm.... , perky?
What the hell's wrong with me!
;)
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Taste of a Woman
Is a subtle thing.
A flavor oft missed,
misunderstood or unappreciated.
it is her scent
her voice
her very being
is what she does
how she is
and what she softly cries
it is ambrosia
honey and sunlight
all rolled into one
it reaches beyond the now
and grabs you
before and after
is what brings you back
to the font
and flavors of youth
the taste of a woman is
love
life
breath
lust
fire
hope
the taste of a woman
is what makes
all of us
alive forever
A flavor oft missed,
misunderstood or unappreciated.
it is her scent
her voice
her very being
is what she does
how she is
and what she softly cries
it is ambrosia
honey and sunlight
all rolled into one
it reaches beyond the now
and grabs you
before and after
is what brings you back
to the font
and flavors of youth
the taste of a woman is
love
life
breath
lust
fire
hope
the taste of a woman
is what makes
all of us
alive forever
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
there are times you should just write...
it's an imperative.
I went to Yellow Springs today, immersed in retro culture...hiked in the woods.
Spent time with the wife, and the Mother in Law.
Saw autumn in nature.
missed new friends, new traditions...
the Pub, possible movie.
missed cruel Tuesday,
new comics.
Got snubbed by old friends and distance, again.
Did I mention hiked, a lot, outdoors...
drank from a natural spring..tasted iron without getting punched in the mouth..haven't had a clean fight in a year...good outright venting of testosterone. Is it a good thing? that we don't feel these things out anymore? just haul off and punch someone...and then share a drink a little later and hash it all out?
Streams...water...leaves...leaf mold. Smelled it all. Thought of beauty, saw it. Saw a waterfall, without another photog focusing on my wife but my attention on it and her/them. really saw it this time.
walking, holding a grandparents walking stick in hand...feeling right.
Why did I leave?
Because I don't like one place for too long? I like travel with an anchor.
My anchor is people.
Don't lose me...I won't like it.
I lose myself easily enough.
Cat, how did I end up with a cat? that made no sense...they annoy me. Yet here she is, nosing for my lap. grrrr ;)
movie, what was it tonight?
Gaming...am I too old? is it an unhealthy escape or 'normal' hobby to keep me grounded?
did I assume too much of old friends? can they help me get a job?
is it really the economy, or did I outlive my usefulness 20 years too early?
Is it too late for us to have a kid?
My sons' going to college next year...full ride for something, either football or academic. Damn his mom done good! the boy's awesome. he's a bundle of smart and athletic. proud. of her too.
(sorry about punctuation, just typing out things right now).
Need to go back to school, or find a teaching venue of some sort. I feel alive when sharing knowledge.
I can, and I want to teach...we who CAN teach..not can't.
I like people, but hate humans...I am a conundrum without a clue...a rebel without a cause...a para without a duck...and an anachronism.
I flew too close to the sun...but my wings didn't work to begin with.
nonsense, but the words sounded good.
Did I screw up the first marriage? Or was it just that first mistake, the one we all seem to make, and I was too stubborn to see it for 11 years.
Seems like everyone else did before me? couldn't warn me, wouldn't have seemed the right place.
Does that make me an asshole for telling other people when it isn't mine?
I got lucky this time...did she?
Maybe I am playing with a bit of fire...burnt offerings?
Golden Apples of the Sun...
are my fingers going to be those offerings?
I didn't make it home in time...she died before I got here.
I loved her. Thank gawd for the pic in the kitchen.
Wanna come over for Tequila and Rock Band? you are always invited...
Jess, sorry I screwed it up...so glad you found the right guy at the right time...
This is me, I like to write...maybe for too long. But it's going to be me for a long time.
Is it already 40 going on 41?
Why do I feel like late 20's going on forever?
I like my quotes, I like my discordia, but do I define myself with them, or did they just contribute to my definition?
Life, I have too much of it to be depressed.
My MIL's sig O thought I was early 30's...
is that a compliment of vitality, or is it a comment on lack of maturity?
Have I been a child too long?
I want my son to be happy...thank gawd I think he is.
Is it wrong that I type gawd like that, and not God...that I don't want to offend...
and sometimes don't know that it really matters, that I think I'm wormfood at the end anyway, and that goodness is defined by what we should want to do, not what some ephemeral entity says we should?
I don't believe, but I do...I see the hand, but I think it's divorced.
Not cynically, or spitefully...not goth or like a revolutionary..or abandoned.
I think he/she/it/they created to further, and we are part of a greater whole...a cog..and that we are in a hands off state after creation, to follow our own path..and die. be done. contributors but not contiguous.
Does it really matter what I think?
I think not... :)
I think what matters is what you think!
But do I think that matters too much to me?
did I let go of the need, finally, to be loved by more than me?
did I recognize that I am not responsible for any single person other than myself, and by only knowing that responsibility and acting on it can I help the others?
I am sorry parents, for not living up to expectations.
I am sorry ex-wife, for the same.
I am sorry son, for not being there when I should have been...thank you for letting me back in.
I am sorry old friends, for leaving...
I can only do so much...and what I do may be flawed.
but I love(d) you all.
Words are tools...
do I use them correctly.
Do I wield them as weapons,
utilize them like scalpels,
or flail them about me randomly and without meaning or impact.
have I failed to learn their importance, while creating the impression of import?
do I know them, or just fake them...
do I know you?
do I fake it? would you know if I did? would you care?
I am 41 this year, and I don't necessarily know if I count,
and I don't necessarily know if I care?
I just want to know if those that I touched were better for it?
If I didn't help, in some small way, I need to figure out why not...so that I may help others later.
I love people,
I hate humanity...
this is NOT contradictory,
it simply is.
Love ya all...remember that!
:)
it's an imperative.
I went to Yellow Springs today, immersed in retro culture...hiked in the woods.
Spent time with the wife, and the Mother in Law.
Saw autumn in nature.
missed new friends, new traditions...
the Pub, possible movie.
missed cruel Tuesday,
new comics.
Got snubbed by old friends and distance, again.
Did I mention hiked, a lot, outdoors...
drank from a natural spring..tasted iron without getting punched in the mouth..haven't had a clean fight in a year...good outright venting of testosterone. Is it a good thing? that we don't feel these things out anymore? just haul off and punch someone...and then share a drink a little later and hash it all out?
Streams...water...leaves...leaf mold. Smelled it all. Thought of beauty, saw it. Saw a waterfall, without another photog focusing on my wife but my attention on it and her/them. really saw it this time.
walking, holding a grandparents walking stick in hand...feeling right.
Why did I leave?
Because I don't like one place for too long? I like travel with an anchor.
My anchor is people.
Don't lose me...I won't like it.
I lose myself easily enough.
Cat, how did I end up with a cat? that made no sense...they annoy me. Yet here she is, nosing for my lap. grrrr ;)
movie, what was it tonight?
Gaming...am I too old? is it an unhealthy escape or 'normal' hobby to keep me grounded?
did I assume too much of old friends? can they help me get a job?
is it really the economy, or did I outlive my usefulness 20 years too early?
Is it too late for us to have a kid?
My sons' going to college next year...full ride for something, either football or academic. Damn his mom done good! the boy's awesome. he's a bundle of smart and athletic. proud. of her too.
(sorry about punctuation, just typing out things right now).
Need to go back to school, or find a teaching venue of some sort. I feel alive when sharing knowledge.
I can, and I want to teach...we who CAN teach..not can't.
I like people, but hate humans...I am a conundrum without a clue...a rebel without a cause...a para without a duck...and an anachronism.
I flew too close to the sun...but my wings didn't work to begin with.
nonsense, but the words sounded good.
Did I screw up the first marriage? Or was it just that first mistake, the one we all seem to make, and I was too stubborn to see it for 11 years.
Seems like everyone else did before me? couldn't warn me, wouldn't have seemed the right place.
Does that make me an asshole for telling other people when it isn't mine?
I got lucky this time...did she?
Maybe I am playing with a bit of fire...burnt offerings?
Golden Apples of the Sun...
are my fingers going to be those offerings?
I didn't make it home in time...she died before I got here.
I loved her. Thank gawd for the pic in the kitchen.
Wanna come over for Tequila and Rock Band? you are always invited...
Jess, sorry I screwed it up...so glad you found the right guy at the right time...
This is me, I like to write...maybe for too long. But it's going to be me for a long time.
Is it already 40 going on 41?
Why do I feel like late 20's going on forever?
I like my quotes, I like my discordia, but do I define myself with them, or did they just contribute to my definition?
Life, I have too much of it to be depressed.
My MIL's sig O thought I was early 30's...
is that a compliment of vitality, or is it a comment on lack of maturity?
Have I been a child too long?
I want my son to be happy...thank gawd I think he is.
Is it wrong that I type gawd like that, and not God...that I don't want to offend...
and sometimes don't know that it really matters, that I think I'm wormfood at the end anyway, and that goodness is defined by what we should want to do, not what some ephemeral entity says we should?
I don't believe, but I do...I see the hand, but I think it's divorced.
Not cynically, or spitefully...not goth or like a revolutionary..or abandoned.
I think he/she/it/they created to further, and we are part of a greater whole...a cog..and that we are in a hands off state after creation, to follow our own path..and die. be done. contributors but not contiguous.
Does it really matter what I think?
I think not... :)
I think what matters is what you think!
But do I think that matters too much to me?
did I let go of the need, finally, to be loved by more than me?
did I recognize that I am not responsible for any single person other than myself, and by only knowing that responsibility and acting on it can I help the others?
I am sorry parents, for not living up to expectations.
I am sorry ex-wife, for the same.
I am sorry son, for not being there when I should have been...thank you for letting me back in.
I am sorry old friends, for leaving...
I can only do so much...and what I do may be flawed.
but I love(d) you all.
Words are tools...
do I use them correctly.
Do I wield them as weapons,
utilize them like scalpels,
or flail them about me randomly and without meaning or impact.
have I failed to learn their importance, while creating the impression of import?
do I know them, or just fake them...
do I know you?
do I fake it? would you know if I did? would you care?
I am 41 this year, and I don't necessarily know if I count,
and I don't necessarily know if I care?
I just want to know if those that I touched were better for it?
If I didn't help, in some small way, I need to figure out why not...so that I may help others later.
I love people,
I hate humanity...
this is NOT contradictory,
it simply is.
Love ya all...remember that!
:)
Monday, September 28, 2009
AAAAARGGGHHHH
Mother in Law now here for a week....
will be for another...
no inappropriate cuddling....for two whole weeks...
spleen rupturing...
arrrrgggggghhhh....(whimper)
(and now back to your regularly scheduled ranting)
will be for another...
no inappropriate cuddling....for two whole weeks...
spleen rupturing...
arrrrgggggghhhh....(whimper)
(and now back to your regularly scheduled ranting)
Finally
Autumn has arrived...
I've been up since 2:30am...Wind blustered in 'round about 1:30ish, waking me on and off.
At 2:30, I heard what I swore was the sound of a badger trying to dig to china.
It was my cat.
Befouling the bathroom where her litter is contained...
and though it sounds appropriate..it isn't. She's VILE. We cannot compete. She was trying to bury it. She shouldn't have bothered. It was like trying to bury Chernobyl...
I was awake with the blowing wind, the crashing of limbs from trees and the noxious green cloud threatening the entire upstairs. I fled downstairs. I left the women-folk to their fate, seeing them as sacrificial canaries in a mine shaft. I figured if I started to hear muffled screams and then gurgling...I'd just burn the house down and start over.
I came downstairs, and the stinky beast followed (escaping her own atrocity I am sure) and started to putter (I love that word now). She pestered me for about 15 minutes, looking for handouts or a lap to warm up in. I ignored her.
I started to paint, and couldn't get motivated.
I started to write, and was unfocused.
I burned about 15 minutes getting breakfast set up to send my wife off with good school fuel (I was under the hopeful assumption she and her mother would survive the chemical attack).
I thought about starting the pot of coffee a little early. Rox had pre-set it for 8 cups at 6am.
It was 4am. Dammit...
2 hours...no coffee.
Cat had fallen asleep, no one to abuse.
TV too loud, interwebz boring.
And then it dawned on me...I was looking for something. I was fidgeting and unfocused because of something.
What was it?
What had me pacing, bouncing my leg and unable to sit for any leng...
Well hell, I was chilly.
I needed my robe and my slippers.
The cat woke me up with her vile stench,
and I wanted to kiss the little bugger...
I went outside, shivered in the breeze...and Inhaled deeply.
It was crisp...
It was clean...
It was beautiful (even at 0'dark-thirty)..
It is Autumn.
And even my cat's butt couldn't ruin this morning.
:)
I've been up since 2:30am...Wind blustered in 'round about 1:30ish, waking me on and off.
At 2:30, I heard what I swore was the sound of a badger trying to dig to china.
It was my cat.
Befouling the bathroom where her litter is contained...
and though it sounds appropriate..it isn't. She's VILE. We cannot compete. She was trying to bury it. She shouldn't have bothered. It was like trying to bury Chernobyl...
I was awake with the blowing wind, the crashing of limbs from trees and the noxious green cloud threatening the entire upstairs. I fled downstairs. I left the women-folk to their fate, seeing them as sacrificial canaries in a mine shaft. I figured if I started to hear muffled screams and then gurgling...I'd just burn the house down and start over.
I came downstairs, and the stinky beast followed (escaping her own atrocity I am sure) and started to putter (I love that word now). She pestered me for about 15 minutes, looking for handouts or a lap to warm up in. I ignored her.
I started to paint, and couldn't get motivated.
I started to write, and was unfocused.
I burned about 15 minutes getting breakfast set up to send my wife off with good school fuel (I was under the hopeful assumption she and her mother would survive the chemical attack).
I thought about starting the pot of coffee a little early. Rox had pre-set it for 8 cups at 6am.
It was 4am. Dammit...
2 hours...no coffee.
Cat had fallen asleep, no one to abuse.
TV too loud, interwebz boring.
And then it dawned on me...I was looking for something. I was fidgeting and unfocused because of something.
What was it?
What had me pacing, bouncing my leg and unable to sit for any leng...
Well hell, I was chilly.
I needed my robe and my slippers.
The cat woke me up with her vile stench,
and I wanted to kiss the little bugger...
I went outside, shivered in the breeze...and Inhaled deeply.
It was crisp...
It was clean...
It was beautiful (even at 0'dark-thirty)..
It is Autumn.
And even my cat's butt couldn't ruin this morning.
:)
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Bathing in the light..
"Here comes the sun, du dn du du..."
It's rare, that I realize
What a creature of nature I am.
We grow disconnected, as people
with our I-pods and tv and facebook...
and then it rains...for days.
dreary, damp..deadening.
Not cleansing rain, like a storm in the summer
or one that cleanses the smell
of wildfires
cloying
beating
draining
Then it lets up.
the oppression is lifted
the damp starts to recede from your bones...
you might not even notice it at first
just kind of wake up a little
I didn't catch on,
not till I was driving home today...
tap tap tapping on my steering wheel
smiling, thinking of wife, friends, bubbles
and home..
I didn't catch on,
till I caught myself singing
with joy in my heart
I'm such a creature of nature,
thank gawd I remembered!
"Here comes the sun..."
dammit, but George sang it right!
:)
It's rare, that I realize
What a creature of nature I am.
We grow disconnected, as people
with our I-pods and tv and facebook...
and then it rains...for days.
dreary, damp..deadening.
Not cleansing rain, like a storm in the summer
or one that cleanses the smell
of wildfires
cloying
beating
draining
Then it lets up.
the oppression is lifted
the damp starts to recede from your bones...
you might not even notice it at first
just kind of wake up a little
I didn't catch on,
not till I was driving home today...
tap tap tapping on my steering wheel
smiling, thinking of wife, friends, bubbles
and home..
I didn't catch on,
till I caught myself singing
with joy in my heart
I'm such a creature of nature,
thank gawd I remembered!
"Here comes the sun..."
dammit, but George sang it right!
:)
5 days....
of this dreck...
Now I remember why I hated Sitka.
I try to write, the paper's limp.
I try to dry off with a fresh towel after a shower (that leaves me feeling sticky and humid after getting out) and it's humid and limp.
Fresh sheets, tacky and limp.
Even the cat's limp and sticky...
blech.
the world needs;
the rain to stop,
a sauna,
and a viagra....
Now I remember why I hated Sitka.
I try to write, the paper's limp.
I try to dry off with a fresh towel after a shower (that leaves me feeling sticky and humid after getting out) and it's humid and limp.
Fresh sheets, tacky and limp.
Even the cat's limp and sticky...
blech.
the world needs;
the rain to stop,
a sauna,
and a viagra....
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Unemployment
So,
I'm TFG, livin off 'da man!
Honestly relieved, Unemp was extended...
I don't have to eat the cat...yet...
I THINK that's a good thing, though it would solve some problems. ;)
I'm TFG, livin off 'da man!
Honestly relieved, Unemp was extended...
I don't have to eat the cat...yet...
I THINK that's a good thing, though it would solve some problems. ;)
Monday, September 21, 2009
The Enemy...
...is not my cat.
As much as I may wish it to be the case, it's age.
I am getting greedy. With time.
I don't like to sleep.
It's all the little things that race about in my head as I close my eyes.
The hamster in the wheel is on about 5 pots of coffee, and burning out the axle.
I don't think it's normal, to hate sleep.
I see it as an enemy, consuming 3-5 hours of every precious day that I have. (should be 8, "but I have a cat see...and she's evil see...and she helps my insomnia see"...said in a bad early Chicago mob accent).
I see my life-clock, and I know that carousel is coming...but I don't want to embrace Renewal.
I want to squeeze every drop of potential out of every waking moment, and I want more of the moments to be waking.
I need a job. The longer I am without, the more difficult it is for me to squeeze.
Maybe I should take up criminal activity, to support my nefarious desires to live! :)
I have a wife who actually knows, and loves, ME. (poor girl)
I live in a house that has been in my family for my entire life.
I have a family across the street for moral support.
I have a home, a roof over my head, and am rediscovering lost friends and family.
Why am I fighting something as simple as sleep?
If I had a fellow insomniac to share these late night ramblings with, I could enjoy it more.
All I have is a shat-tastic cat! :P
As much as I may wish it to be the case, it's age.
I am getting greedy. With time.
I don't like to sleep.
It's all the little things that race about in my head as I close my eyes.
The hamster in the wheel is on about 5 pots of coffee, and burning out the axle.
I don't think it's normal, to hate sleep.
I see it as an enemy, consuming 3-5 hours of every precious day that I have. (should be 8, "but I have a cat see...and she's evil see...and she helps my insomnia see"...said in a bad early Chicago mob accent).
I see my life-clock, and I know that carousel is coming...but I don't want to embrace Renewal.
I want to squeeze every drop of potential out of every waking moment, and I want more of the moments to be waking.
I need a job. The longer I am without, the more difficult it is for me to squeeze.
Maybe I should take up criminal activity, to support my nefarious desires to live! :)
I have a wife who actually knows, and loves, ME. (poor girl)
I live in a house that has been in my family for my entire life.
I have a family across the street for moral support.
I have a home, a roof over my head, and am rediscovering lost friends and family.
Why am I fighting something as simple as sleep?
If I had a fellow insomniac to share these late night ramblings with, I could enjoy it more.
All I have is a shat-tastic cat! :P
Saturday, September 19, 2009
3 blind mice....
Okay,
3 dead mice.
For those of you that don't know already,
I have been waging a war against the field mice that occasionally invade my kitchen.
It's an old home, a drafty one, and has an old basement with a wine cellar and storm door access.
I see this as a home improvement project in the making, the mice see it as an invitation to a smorgasbord.
I implemented strategies, lost some minor skirmishes (my thumb still remembers the 2nd trap reloading) and have drawn first blood.
I even tried to secure plutonium for radiological battle...no results, other than temporary baldness (fingers still crossed on the 'temporary' part). But I continue to wage a war that our resident feline should be waging for me!
In keeping with the theme of my writings I will find a way to make this at least a bit about my cat.
In addition to her lack of concern for the invasion, desire for the peanut butter on the traps (oh the temptation, but I have behaved) my cat managed to catch fleas from the vermin. 3 weeks, 4 baths, a flea collar and a 50$ package of advantix later...and we still haven't gotten rid of the parasite...but the fleas are gone.
(If you think me cruel, or inhumane, keep in mind a few things...my cat has had fleas since the invasion began a little over a month ago. If you have not had a flea ridden cat trying to share a bed with you constantly, you cannot understand the hatred I have acquired for rodents...you just cannot. It's not the fleas, they don't like me. It's the shaking of the bed, as she scratches. The clawing at the floor if we close the bedroom door. It's the jingle of her collar, or the thumping on the floor, as she scratches...and scratches...and scratches. It was her or the mice.
My vote was for her...I was out-voted by my wife.)
About a week and a half ago, I found another casualty. My second victim.
I re-baited the trap (without personal injury, I was so proud) and waited. After a week plus, I was beginning to think there were no more invaders. The huns had been driven back. The Moors out of Europe. The Vikings from the shore. I left the trap, checking dilligently (twice a day, with hope) to no avail. Had I won? Had they been driven out?
With no thought for the front-lines, the rodents or the cats negligence, my wife and I sat down to have pizza (a treat, as my girth has caused me to partake in a diet...when you view celery with blue cheese dressing a treat, you've gone too far) and watch a movie or two. We chose an action thriller.
In the midst of a fight scene, we hear a 'CLACK' from the kitchen. My head pops up, my hand leaps out and the pause button is pushed. As the cat is not in eyesight, I assume something has been dislodged in the kitchen. I listen, my wife Roxz listens, the world pauses. Uma Thurman is frozen with a snowy background in mid spin with a sword, the clack having coincided with a sword clash I begin to wonder if I was hearing things.
Not trusting the feline to not be trying to outsmart us (assuming she actually thinks that far ahead) I get up slowly and quietly, and tiptoe into the kitchen.
The dim light casts shadows about, the kitchen is empty. No cat hunkers on the counter next to a tumbled utensil. No cat hides under the table atop a pilfered tool. No cat, in fact, stares back from any corner/nook or surface. I start to spin, to go back to my film, when an idea hits me (okay, my wife's forhead...I spun around to fast).
I look at her with this thought foremost, and she reads it in my eyes, "The trap?" she asks.
"Couldn't be that lucky" I respond.
I step to the cupboard under the sink, where my weapons of war are arrayed, and open up. I close it, I turn, and I gloat. My wife accuses me of looking at her with "Pride and boyish glee" in my eyes.
3 down.... :)
When I go to hell, do you think they'll bait man sized traps with pizza?
3 dead mice.
For those of you that don't know already,
I have been waging a war against the field mice that occasionally invade my kitchen.
It's an old home, a drafty one, and has an old basement with a wine cellar and storm door access.
I see this as a home improvement project in the making, the mice see it as an invitation to a smorgasbord.
I implemented strategies, lost some minor skirmishes (my thumb still remembers the 2nd trap reloading) and have drawn first blood.
I even tried to secure plutonium for radiological battle...no results, other than temporary baldness (fingers still crossed on the 'temporary' part). But I continue to wage a war that our resident feline should be waging for me!
In keeping with the theme of my writings I will find a way to make this at least a bit about my cat.
In addition to her lack of concern for the invasion, desire for the peanut butter on the traps (oh the temptation, but I have behaved) my cat managed to catch fleas from the vermin. 3 weeks, 4 baths, a flea collar and a 50$ package of advantix later...and we still haven't gotten rid of the parasite...but the fleas are gone.
(If you think me cruel, or inhumane, keep in mind a few things...my cat has had fleas since the invasion began a little over a month ago. If you have not had a flea ridden cat trying to share a bed with you constantly, you cannot understand the hatred I have acquired for rodents...you just cannot. It's not the fleas, they don't like me. It's the shaking of the bed, as she scratches. The clawing at the floor if we close the bedroom door. It's the jingle of her collar, or the thumping on the floor, as she scratches...and scratches...and scratches. It was her or the mice.
My vote was for her...I was out-voted by my wife.)
About a week and a half ago, I found another casualty. My second victim.
I re-baited the trap (without personal injury, I was so proud) and waited. After a week plus, I was beginning to think there were no more invaders. The huns had been driven back. The Moors out of Europe. The Vikings from the shore. I left the trap, checking dilligently (twice a day, with hope) to no avail. Had I won? Had they been driven out?
With no thought for the front-lines, the rodents or the cats negligence, my wife and I sat down to have pizza (a treat, as my girth has caused me to partake in a diet...when you view celery with blue cheese dressing a treat, you've gone too far) and watch a movie or two. We chose an action thriller.
In the midst of a fight scene, we hear a 'CLACK' from the kitchen. My head pops up, my hand leaps out and the pause button is pushed. As the cat is not in eyesight, I assume something has been dislodged in the kitchen. I listen, my wife Roxz listens, the world pauses. Uma Thurman is frozen with a snowy background in mid spin with a sword, the clack having coincided with a sword clash I begin to wonder if I was hearing things.
Not trusting the feline to not be trying to outsmart us (assuming she actually thinks that far ahead) I get up slowly and quietly, and tiptoe into the kitchen.
The dim light casts shadows about, the kitchen is empty. No cat hunkers on the counter next to a tumbled utensil. No cat hides under the table atop a pilfered tool. No cat, in fact, stares back from any corner/nook or surface. I start to spin, to go back to my film, when an idea hits me (okay, my wife's forhead...I spun around to fast).
I look at her with this thought foremost, and she reads it in my eyes, "The trap?" she asks.
"Couldn't be that lucky" I respond.
I step to the cupboard under the sink, where my weapons of war are arrayed, and open up. I close it, I turn, and I gloat. My wife accuses me of looking at her with "Pride and boyish glee" in my eyes.
3 down.... :)
When I go to hell, do you think they'll bait man sized traps with pizza?
Monday, September 14, 2009
ROUS
Okay,
so I succumbed, didn't want to interfere with the spouses first Monday morning of classes, and took a sleeping pill last night.
I went upstairs, lay down to read...and 15 minutes of staring at the ceiling later, my wife asks me why I'm still wearing my glasses.
"You wanted me to read you a chapter of McManus" I said, while rotating my head a little to follow the ceiling fan...dizzy while laying down, wondering why I couldn't focus on the moving blades, and whether they would fly off...why they wouldn't focus...how many blades there were...if those were multiplying...if they took off would they fly, or just chop off my toes...if they flew off would they get the cat before my toes...where's the cat...I don't hear crashing in the house...why they wouldn't focu....zzzzzzzzzz
As I've said before, when I take these pills, my cat takes note. Normally with glee and cunning, and a bit of spite, she takes note.
She begins to plot...
But this isn't a story about my cat. She doesn't figure in this at all. It's about my wife.
I was gone, just out. I looked at the clock as I laid down last night (muzzily, with glasses on...not sure why the glasses were still on till the wife asked me WHY...remember why when she asks, and promptly passed out), it read 10:30.
I'm an insomniac, I don't sleep more than 3 hours straight naturally, ever. Even on ambien I usually wake up PRECISELY 4 hours after I take it. If not shortly thereafter. I typify the quote from Fight Club "when you have insomnia, you're never really asleep...and you're never really awake:.
At 5:00, I woke up...abruptly. Not startlingly, just 'I'm awake'. Calmly, laying there with warm snuggly, the window open hearing the sounds of truly early morning, I'm awake. I get up, shuffle to the 'facilities', and shuffle back a minute later. I kind of stand there for a moment, realizing that was no 'demand' of nature just a ritual. Nothing to have drug me out of bed.
I listen, trying to sort out if the cat has been up to some mischief downstairs. Trying to figure out why I'm awake. Nothing. Just awake. Languidly, despite the temperature, softly.
No newspaper drop off loudly, no loud construction noises...just up.
Hell, the insomniac just got almost 7 straight hours of sleep. And he's calm and fuzzy enough, he's gonna get another 30 minutes before the alarm goes off (remember,wife early day) and cook her breakfast/have coffee! WOOT!
So I climb back into bed for a little hour (or less) nap, dig into the warm and start to drift.
And then I feel a wiggling of legs next to me...you married folks out there know the type, you pulled the covers a bit, spouse is unconscious with chilled toes and reflex takes over...poorly...and feet do a little flutter kick to pull it back...poorly. As I am awake, and know that this will bring someone to consciousness unhappily and poorly, I quickly pull blankets and adjust to make sure she's covered. I even looked. She's covered, totally.
I lay back, snuggle, and begin to drift...
10 minutes later...
kickity-kickity-kickity...(little flutter kicks, barely noticeable, I almost don't figure out what wakes me). Okay, it's just a running dream...no whimpering, so not a nightmare...and she's stopped. Lay back...drifting offfff....
kickity-kickity-kickity. Okay, now this is entering snoring realm. I gently jiggle her, it stops. I start to drif...
kickity-kickity... I open my eyes, I look at her face and I listen to her breathing. She's not faking, she's not distressed. I jiggle...she stops. It's 5:30.
I decide to try again...lay down...5 minutes of waiting, start to let go...
kickity...
Softly, so as not to startle her awake, I query "Hon, what are you running from?"
"mmfff dunff knof" snuggles in to my chest, starts to breath normally again. I lay back....
kickity-kickity...jiggle..."hon, you okay"..."MFFFF"(irritated 'why are you waking me' tone).
repeat one last time, doze/kickity/you okay/angry 'mfff'...
Okay, no big. I really am well rested. I gently extricate myself, and go downstairs.
I putter (i have decided that I am no longer too young to putter, and since I am not a natural in the kitchen, in that environ puttering is about all I can aspire to) around in the kitchen, make sure breakfast supplies are out (I have been tasked with making eggs to go with the coffee...have I mentioned I am the egg gawd?) and sit down on the computer to putter a bit more (I'm not great with technology either, I am LUCKY that my computer use is only referred to as puttering, not violating).
I hear the alarm upstairs go off a little bit later, and stumbling (with an indignant MROWRP from the feline...she doesn't understand underfoot is dangerous in the morning), and the shower.
A bit later, the spouse comes down.
We kiss, she settles into coffee as I wrap up some online rambling and jib-jabbing (she provides me with a cup).
I get up and start making breakfast.
As I stand next to her cooking, while she reads the remnants of the paper and sucks Java like it's mana from heaven,
I describe my glorious nights sleep, the perfect out like a light, up the next morning, and nothing in between moment...that thing that never happens.
I then describe the wonderful feel of looking at the clock, seeing another hour of sleep coming to me, and knowing that I would love it!
I am giddy. I describe all this because I have been bouncy since she has come downstairs. Happy, warm, energetic...so NOT my normal morning self.
I was singing, I was dancing, I petted the cat happily...(okay, the dancing was not had)
I return to the whole 'looking forward to another hour of glorious sleep, that I NEVER get'....
And then I confronted her about the sabotage..
I asked...
"So, were you having a nightmare, or just a running dream?"
"Huh?"
"This morning, when you drove me out of bed, what was up?" I asked, accusatory tone heavy..intimating intent on my good sleep and sanity.
I then described the sequence of 'kickety-kickety-kickety' (doing my favorite 'Quagmire' impression voice from Family Guy) and the muffled responses.
She stops, and thinks..hard. She is trying to recall the morning dreams...(I can smell the burning rubber as she tries to engage the drive of her 6am brain...it hurts, I know).
Then she started to giggle.
"I was dreaming of rats of abnormal size...they were nibbling on my toes, and I couldn't get em to leave me alone," she titter through this...I say "kickety-kickety"...she's getting closer to uncontrollable giggling..."I knew you were there, it wasn't real, but I was convinced...and they were just nibbling, I couldn't get em off!"
R.O.U.S.'s..........she woke me up because she dreamed of ROUS's...she kicked me, because she dreamed of ROUS's...
I think my wife has gone quietly batty...
so I succumbed, didn't want to interfere with the spouses first Monday morning of classes, and took a sleeping pill last night.
I went upstairs, lay down to read...and 15 minutes of staring at the ceiling later, my wife asks me why I'm still wearing my glasses.
"You wanted me to read you a chapter of McManus" I said, while rotating my head a little to follow the ceiling fan...dizzy while laying down, wondering why I couldn't focus on the moving blades, and whether they would fly off...why they wouldn't focus...how many blades there were...if those were multiplying...if they took off would they fly, or just chop off my toes...if they flew off would they get the cat before my toes...where's the cat...I don't hear crashing in the house...why they wouldn't focu....zzzzzzzzzz
As I've said before, when I take these pills, my cat takes note. Normally with glee and cunning, and a bit of spite, she takes note.
She begins to plot...
But this isn't a story about my cat. She doesn't figure in this at all. It's about my wife.
I was gone, just out. I looked at the clock as I laid down last night (muzzily, with glasses on...not sure why the glasses were still on till the wife asked me WHY...remember why when she asks, and promptly passed out), it read 10:30.
I'm an insomniac, I don't sleep more than 3 hours straight naturally, ever. Even on ambien I usually wake up PRECISELY 4 hours after I take it. If not shortly thereafter. I typify the quote from Fight Club "when you have insomnia, you're never really asleep...and you're never really awake:.
At 5:00, I woke up...abruptly. Not startlingly, just 'I'm awake'. Calmly, laying there with warm snuggly, the window open hearing the sounds of truly early morning, I'm awake. I get up, shuffle to the 'facilities', and shuffle back a minute later. I kind of stand there for a moment, realizing that was no 'demand' of nature just a ritual. Nothing to have drug me out of bed.
I listen, trying to sort out if the cat has been up to some mischief downstairs. Trying to figure out why I'm awake. Nothing. Just awake. Languidly, despite the temperature, softly.
No newspaper drop off loudly, no loud construction noises...just up.
Hell, the insomniac just got almost 7 straight hours of sleep. And he's calm and fuzzy enough, he's gonna get another 30 minutes before the alarm goes off (remember,wife early day) and cook her breakfast/have coffee! WOOT!
So I climb back into bed for a little hour (or less) nap, dig into the warm and start to drift.
And then I feel a wiggling of legs next to me...you married folks out there know the type, you pulled the covers a bit, spouse is unconscious with chilled toes and reflex takes over...poorly...and feet do a little flutter kick to pull it back...poorly. As I am awake, and know that this will bring someone to consciousness unhappily and poorly, I quickly pull blankets and adjust to make sure she's covered. I even looked. She's covered, totally.
I lay back, snuggle, and begin to drift...
10 minutes later...
kickity-kickity-kickity...(little flutter kicks, barely noticeable, I almost don't figure out what wakes me). Okay, it's just a running dream...no whimpering, so not a nightmare...and she's stopped. Lay back...drifting offfff....
kickity-kickity-kickity. Okay, now this is entering snoring realm. I gently jiggle her, it stops. I start to drif...
kickity-kickity... I open my eyes, I look at her face and I listen to her breathing. She's not faking, she's not distressed. I jiggle...she stops. It's 5:30.
I decide to try again...lay down...5 minutes of waiting, start to let go...
kickity...
Softly, so as not to startle her awake, I query "Hon, what are you running from?"
"mmfff dunff knof" snuggles in to my chest, starts to breath normally again. I lay back....
kickity-kickity...jiggle..."hon, you okay"..."MFFFF"(irritated 'why are you waking me' tone).
repeat one last time, doze/kickity/you okay/angry 'mfff'...
Okay, no big. I really am well rested. I gently extricate myself, and go downstairs.
I putter (i have decided that I am no longer too young to putter, and since I am not a natural in the kitchen, in that environ puttering is about all I can aspire to) around in the kitchen, make sure breakfast supplies are out (I have been tasked with making eggs to go with the coffee...have I mentioned I am the egg gawd?) and sit down on the computer to putter a bit more (I'm not great with technology either, I am LUCKY that my computer use is only referred to as puttering, not violating).
I hear the alarm upstairs go off a little bit later, and stumbling (with an indignant MROWRP from the feline...she doesn't understand underfoot is dangerous in the morning), and the shower.
A bit later, the spouse comes down.
We kiss, she settles into coffee as I wrap up some online rambling and jib-jabbing (she provides me with a cup).
I get up and start making breakfast.
As I stand next to her cooking, while she reads the remnants of the paper and sucks Java like it's mana from heaven,
I describe my glorious nights sleep, the perfect out like a light, up the next morning, and nothing in between moment...that thing that never happens.
I then describe the wonderful feel of looking at the clock, seeing another hour of sleep coming to me, and knowing that I would love it!
I am giddy. I describe all this because I have been bouncy since she has come downstairs. Happy, warm, energetic...so NOT my normal morning self.
I was singing, I was dancing, I petted the cat happily...(okay, the dancing was not had)
I return to the whole 'looking forward to another hour of glorious sleep, that I NEVER get'....
And then I confronted her about the sabotage..
I asked...
"So, were you having a nightmare, or just a running dream?"
"Huh?"
"This morning, when you drove me out of bed, what was up?" I asked, accusatory tone heavy..intimating intent on my good sleep and sanity.
I then described the sequence of 'kickety-kickety-kickety' (doing my favorite 'Quagmire' impression voice from Family Guy) and the muffled responses.
She stops, and thinks..hard. She is trying to recall the morning dreams...(I can smell the burning rubber as she tries to engage the drive of her 6am brain...it hurts, I know).
Then she started to giggle.
"I was dreaming of rats of abnormal size...they were nibbling on my toes, and I couldn't get em to leave me alone," she titter through this...I say "kickety-kickety"...she's getting closer to uncontrollable giggling..."I knew you were there, it wasn't real, but I was convinced...and they were just nibbling, I couldn't get em off!"
R.O.U.S.'s..........she woke me up because she dreamed of ROUS's...she kicked me, because she dreamed of ROUS's...
I think my wife has gone quietly batty...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)