Why 50 days, you ask?

So, a few people have asked me why 50 days?  Actually, I don't know, but it made sense when I realized that would take me to Memorial Day, which presented me with a three-day weekend to move the family back in. 

Now, I don't know why I think I need three days.  I moved all the pets out in about ten minutes, at night, in the pouring rain, whilst stoned out of my gourd (God, I love that phrase!) on kerosene fumes.  I may need two days to scrape all the mud off the floor, and a little time to restick the linoleum down, because the pipes burst and the kitchen flooded, so three sounds good. 

Wow, when I actually wrap my brain around all that's happened in the last month, I start thinking about putting the Exacto knife back.  No wonder you worried.

Moving on....

50 days gives me the opportunity to do 150 things.  Odd, I know.  I do things in three's.  It's the OCD, which stands for Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, unless you're part of my family.  Then it stands for Obviously Cat's Deaf.

Let's touch on the real OCD first.  I wash my hands.  A lot.  This is good if I'm preparing your food, or if you're a stockholder in Bath and Body Works.  If you're not a stockholder, become one.  I can make you very rich. 

My OCD is mild.  It pertains mostly to the hand washing, and the obsession with the number three.  Basically, I'm like the Count on Sesame Street, only with very clean hands.

Now, on to our heritage, and family definition of OCD.  You see, sometimes I don't hear you.  This is because I have the ability to leave this planet and go to another, all from the comfort of my favorite chair.  It's less like space travel, and more like something totally effed up in my gray matter.  I accept this.  It's simply who I am.  My planet is nice.  No one spills kerosene on your daffodils.  No one kills children or beats puppies.  If you do, you're put in a capsule and sent into outer space, with nothing more than a Kenny G CD, which will repeat until your oxygen runs out. 

Wow.  I digress.

Anyhow, I am on day 6 of the 50 day plan.  I feel pretty good.  I have given up sniffing kerosene, choosing instead to be addicted to something wonderful called Bubble Tea. I have given up junk food, have successfully buttoned last year's jeans, and have convinced myself that everyone's mother acts like mine at the age of 73.  If I pretend this, I can cope with the deterioration. 

Jeez, this isn't funny anymore.

Moving on...... 

All righty then.  Time for me to get back to work, to move on to writing something other than this insane shit.  I'll be back soon, to give unwanted advice to anyone forced to move in with an aging parent.

Trust me, you want to read that one...........