There's one thing that really annoys me.
Well, actually there are thousands of things that annoy me, but for now let's concentrate on one.
I'm in the checkout line at Walmart. The unenthusiastic cashier glances at me and says "How are you?"
It's not a question of genuine concern. It's a generic nicety that isn't intended to generate a response.
"Fine," I answer.
"Fine", in fact, is a drastically contrived abbreviation, utilized solely for the sake of brevity and courtesy.
My genuine answer would go something like this:
"How am I? Have you ever gone three consecutive nights without sleep, the result of which has rendered you disoriented, dysfunctional, and disassociated with every semblance of reality? And when you finally do doze off one night for three minutes at 4:00 a.m. a cat suddenly makes a flying leap for the bed and lands directly on your chest? And while you're trying desperately to at least partially recover from shock and chest pain, another storm suddenly blows in with thunder so loud and penetrating that the bed shakes and I'm miraculously and inexplicably remembering Bible quotes that I haven't recited since I was six.
"Despite not having sleep for 72 hours I crawled out of bed right after the storm abated, and was struck with such agonizingly crippling back pain that I was hobbling like a bad imitation of Quasimodo while the cats clung to my ankles in greedy anticipation of breakfast. The word agonizing isn't sufficient to describe the back spasms that stunned me as I valiantly tried to fill cat dishes with food and clean water.
And if you think that's bad, it's nothing compared to lifting two heavy litter boxes loaded with cat shit that I seemingly clean every half hour.
"Despite my unappealing morning I somehow managed to get dressed and drive into town. The harrowing mountain road was so unnerving that my legs are still wobbling like a leftover jello mold and - despite ingesting four or five beers - my hands are still cramped with rigor mortis rigidity from gripping the steering wheel.
"I have heart palpitations, neuralgia, insomnia, paranoia, inexplicable momentary episodes of impending doom, massive migraine headaches, and panic attacks that would baffle Freud - - and that's on a good day. I won't mention the times when I happen to look in a mirror and go into debilitating regions of shock when I realize that I'm not twenty anymore and am starting to turn into a frighteningly reasonable facsimile of Baby Jane Hudson.
"But despite the ancient mental baggage that I carry like a millstone and the few minor physical maladies, I'm still a fantastic kisser and damn good in bed if I'm with the right person. Are you doing anything Friday night?"
Humor obviously isn't contagious.
It's not easy being funny - - and it's even more difficult conveying it in a blog when you're drunk.
I had more than a few beers today. Drove into town. It was unusually crowded and the shoppers annoyed the hell out of me. I didn't buy half of what I needed. It was hotter than Hades but a beautiful day.
I wanted to stop and see my cousin on the way home, but I had frozen food and the interior of my car was 850 degrees.
Massive thunderstorms last night. More are predicted for tomorrow. And the weekend.
Is there any significance for the dog photo on your header, Jon?
Nope. None at all.
Dog days of summer......