BEAT THE HEAT
No, she ain't dead. That's my cat Kitzee (also known as Scratch) relaxing under the piano bench.
This is nothing but a bunch of jumbled thoughts that shouldn't be written. But I write, nevertheless, just to spite my better judgement.
This is a jumbled weekend. I'm exhausted from vicious bouts of insomnia. I have a touch of food poisoning, which has inspired me to consort with PeptoBismol.
And I'm thinking.......could this food poisoning be an act of sabotage? Should I hire a food taster??
Hell, I don't have any money to waste on food tasters. I'll give it to the cats to taste. If they survive, I'm okay.
No need to panic. I'm jesting. Maybe. When you live alone in the mountain wilderness, the mind tends to do strange things.
Come to think of it, when I lived in the Big City my mind still did strange things.
I did some more work in the chaotic garage today, i.e. unpacking, sorting stuff, clearing out the junk. I'm making SLOW progress, but progress nevertheless. An extended deep depression kept me from doing things for months. Depression combined with laziness. I have to literally force myself to do physical things.
Those ruthless years in Texas have taken their toll. I survived but I emerged as a beaten old man. I used to look ten years younger than my age. Now I look ten years older. And I feel fifty years older.
I survived the death of both my parents, and the continual torture of my drug-addicted neighbors, and the lies and unethical shenanigans of incompetent realtors who kept me on a string for over four years. I was stuck with enormous medical bills and astronomical property taxes that financially wiped me out. I was plagued with my own health problems and medical issues that I've never revealed to anyone. And - - during all this time - - I was caring for sixteen cats that one of my other neighbors abandoned when she moved.
That's only part of the Texas saga. If I ever told the rest nobody would believe me. I'm finally out of that bitch of a place, but I still have scars and am licking wounds.
You're complaining too much, Jon. Nobody wants to hear a whiner.
Hey, Pollyanna, when I bitch and whine, I do it with style and flair. Never condemn free entertainment.
I've already mentioned (many times) that the movers had "lost" a lot of my stuff. They also piled big heavy boxes on top of small ones marked fragile and a lot of delicate things were broken. Many of my treasured acquisitions are now in fragmented bits.
Well, today I found some stuff that wasn't broken. That's my cue to post some boring photos of things nobody wants to see.
Some of my antique Staffordshire china, circa 1820
Dresden figurine, circa 1790
I don't know how this one didn't break -
I must be a good packer
The Prince and the Pauper
these two figurines were made in 1885
(I had to put them away because my rowdy cats almost broke them)
Are you still awake?
Yesterday I got the proofs for my poetry book Love Letters to Ghosts, which I plan to check later tonight. Then I'll immediately begin the daunting task of compiling my memoirs.
Memoirs??!!
I can actually feel the excitement that is rippling through my blog audience!
That's not audience excitement, Jon. That's merely a side effect from one of your alcohol-induced stupors.
I'll end (not a moment too soon) with a photo of a seedless watermelon. I still can't find my big carving knives, so I had to cut this with a small Mickey Mouse knife from the Dollar Store.
The melon is sweet and good.
