We’re moving on down. I still need to pack almost everything. I don’t know if my vehicle is capable of making the trip. Piedmont is going to yowl during the entire tip. I’m considering Ketamine. For me, not her. I am excited about being closer to friends, and having our own place, but I am going to miss the beauty of this area.
I slept like crap last night. I don’t understand why people say that. Crap doesn’t exactly sleep, but it isn’t really awake. Generally, once a crap is made, it just lies there. I was tossing and turning all night. So I didn’t sleep like crap last night at all. I haven’t been working like a dog, but I should be sleeping like a…
Ativan times two
Sleep does not come easily
Not much help are you
Dobson would not move from the center of the foot of the bed last night. I would nudge him to the side with my legs so that I could stretch out, but the minute I would curl up for a position change, he would be right back. When I’d try to lay flat again, he would be in my way. This was repeated about 40 times. It was like Groundhog Night. I think he is part of a vast right-wing conspiracy to keep me from getting enough sleep so that the conservative elite can keep me from forming coherent thoughts that may challenge their agenda and prevent the creation of my village which it takes.
Piedmont threw up this morning. Her hairballs cause her to gag and then puke. She is very mobile in her vomiting, choosing to paint the carpet with her orange-brown chunky hues. I don’t care for this grey carpeting either, but I prefer it to cat vomit. We might have to look into getting her some hairball treatment, but I am hesitant as most of those seem to be petroleum based and I would hate to contribute to exploding oil trains anymore than I already do. Besides, after watching footage of dead animals after oil spills whenever oil spills, I’m pretty certain ingesting petroleum can’t be the best thing for animals. People, on the other hand…have at it.
Today we are supposed to go look at furniture with my mother since we are taking most of hers with us in the move. By taking, I mean she is giving us the furniture so that once we leave, she can redecorate and remodel her condo to the dream condo she has always wanted. (Except that she never wanted a condo, she wanted a house, but you can’t always get what you want. No you can’t always get what you want. No you can’t always get what you want. But if you try some times, you just might find, you get a condo.) So don’t worry, we didn’t take the furniture from my mother at gunpoint or anything, but come to think of it, I do think I will fire a few rounds from my Nerf Gun at her as we are leaving just to drive home the point that it is ours now.
My dad should be coming up in my Jeep (the vehicle I speak of) hauling his trailer (the trailer I speak of) to get us and the furniture and one or two items we have acquired during our temporary stay that turned into many years. I say should because when my dad was driving to get it registered he heard a flapping noise which he fears could be a bad CV joint. Now, I don’t know if you know anything about CV joints, but they are about as expensive to replace as a hip joint would be on a person, only with less pain medication required. I’m not sure I could come up with the money, so we may have to figure something else out. Either way, I’m going to need my Jeep once we do get down there so I have to figure something out. I’m considering selling my body, but with all the damage I’m not sure of the value. I’ll also probably still need my body once we go, so I think I’ll have to scrap that idea.
I’m particularly worried about the sun exposure once I get there. I’m going to have to get a big, stupid looking hat. Maybe a fisherman’s hat as that is the only type of hat I could see myself wearing that would actually offer any protection. I have a wool flat-cap that I love, but that really doesn’t protect my face and neck from the high-desert sun. Maybe I should just get one of those straw gardener’s hats and wear it everywhere. It could be my ‘thing’. Maybe I could start a trend. Hipsters will wear it ironically, not realizing that they took it from someone who was wearing it because their risk of skin cancer is twice that of a person who has not been through what I’ve been through. I can drink a Pabst Blue Ribbon with my big gardener hat, and I will finally fit in, until my liver explodes from the PBR anyway.
I’m not a fan of PBR. I like Guinness. I can only have about one a month without really destroying my liver numbers, and therefore, my liver. Besides, when I think PBR, I think Professional Bull Riders since I grew up watching the “Wildest, Richest Rodeo in the West”. I still enjoy watching bull riding, but I always root for the bulls. I don’t like watching bull fighting, but you better believe I root for the bulls then as well. Here in the US, we have a World’s Most Shocking Videos show that I occasionally stop by when none of the blogs I follow are posting anything and The Price Is Right is not on, and I am desperately looking for some sort of entertainment and the books I checked out from the library are pretentious and boring and the run-on sentences I type are getting too long and I should be sleeping but I just can’t. Anyway, they some times have footage of a bull in a bull fighting arena jumping into the stands and goring the spectators. I usually don’t like violence, but I really enjoy that. It is therapeutic somehow. Maybe if I watched enough videos where the bull gets people I could relax my mind enough that I could get some sleep.
Breathe. Clear your thoughts. Focus on the bull. Focus on the blood-thirsty people. See the bull give the people what they want. Listen to their screams. Relax. Be present in this moment. Experience the joy of the bull stomping on the people who were there to see the bull get sliced and stabbed. Drift off. Go to sleep.