Now I realize I still owe a debt of some nine-hundred thousand - and some change - reasons why an adult child should never move in with an aging parent, but I'll have to come back to that. For now, I have returned to my trusted friend, the blog, where I will unload all the baggage none of my human friends want to hear.
So, if you've been following the saga, you know I have a home, which is sitting empty, at a temp of about fifty degrees, with busted pipes, and an odor reminiscent of a room full of mechanics on discount oil change day.
Needless to say, folks, I am hanging on by a string, and not a shoe string from an athletic shoe, more like one from a baby bootie. I have to mentally fill myself with positive energy just to get out of bed, and if you knew what I faced in the morning, you'd understand why I put vodka on my cheerios. Actually Kahlua sounds a lot better, and the cheerios would be like little inner tubes, floating along in a drunken breakfast regatta.
Moving on....
Okay, I'll admit, I don't put booze on my cornflakes. If you call me at 10:00 AM, you won't hear the ice clinking around in my breakfast. I am pretty much running on hope now, which isn't a bad deal, since who can afford gasoline?
The downside of being unable to fuel up your motorboat, and relying solely on the wind, is that just as you get your sails set for a good-ass day, someone comes along and sucks the wind right out of them. I am not sure what to make of these people, but we all know them. They are often referred to as "the haters," those whose cups are "half full," and the age-old description, the "party poopers." Some of them don't even have a cup, but they're happy to piss in yours, and there are those folks who make the "party poopers," look as happy as a bunch of potheads at a Grateful Dead concert.
Yup, there are folks out there who just like to bring us down, and there isn't any good way of avoiding them. We can't put those dollar-store plastic things on the hood of our cars which help us avoid hitting deer, which is probably okay. If one of these folks are in the road, it might best serve us all if you just run them over. You can always say the sun was in your eyes, unless you live in Broome County and then no one is gonna believe that for a moment. You'd be better off saying you were distracted by the image of Jesus on the side of the Kmart plaza.
Ranting must be good for the soul, because I gotta tell you, I feel better already. It might be because of the chocolate brownie that will show up on my butt in June, but in May, it's kept me from becoming a homicidal maniac, and I am really living in the present these days. I think one should go to whatever extreme necessary to avoid homicide, and if the FBI thought chocolate brownies would do it, they'd all be in the kitchen with their Kevlar aprons, cooking up more shit than Betty Crocker.
And speaking of the present, I've got about a hundred pounds of rain-soaked dog logs to pick up before I attempt to eff up my mother's new lawnmower tomorrow, so I need to think about wrapping up this blog, and wrapping my paws in Freihofer's bags to go fishing around in the tall grass for the candy wrapper my dog ate on Tuesday.
And so, I'm off. More soon. As always, I aim to please.........
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