Bits 'n' Pieces

Just some random thoughts floating around my head. I'm too tired and brain-numb to sort them out. My brain is jumping around like a flea on crack. Maybe if I just unload some of it here I can get it to settle down.

I've shared my views on politicians before. Obviously, I don't care for them. Political stuff doesn't excite (or incite) me. I just wish all politicians were required to live on the average income of their constituents. No matter how low it is. It won't make much difference to some, but maybe it would discourage a few of the more unscrupulous and greedy ones. Plus, I think it would be as amusing as hell to watch Senator Porker and Representative Swine try to get by on $32k a year. Of course, if it ever happened, there wouldn't be anyone holding public office in Louisiana. All we've got are the unscrupulous and greedy.

If I hear BL refer to the moving sale as her "last big hoo-hah for good customers" one more time, I'm probably going to lose it. I'm sure she means "hoo-rah" and it's taking every last bit of my self control not to bust out laughing. I'm not the only one who's amused, I caught a couple of customers snickering the other day.

I'm as prepared as I'm gonna get for Gustav. The only thing I'm really worried about is something I can't do anything about. There are a lot of trees around my house, mostly pine. Every time the wind gets stronger than a breeze, branches fall. Lots of big branches. Needless to say, a hurricane makes me a little nervous, waiting for a big branch to come through the roof. Or maybe a whole tree. Yeah, that'd make my week.

I'm going to resort to drugging Skye, if and when we get hit by Gustav. Storms make her really nervous and jumpy. Since she's just had surgery, nervous and jumpy is a bad thing. I really don't want her busting either set of stitches. I'm gonna give her some Ace and hopefully, she'll sleep through it.

There is a pet evacuation center at DCI. The local officials have finally figured out that a lot of people will not leave their pets behind. After Katrina, DCI was used as a shelter for a lot of rescued animals. It worked so well, it's being done again. Oh, DCI stands for Dixon Correctional Institute. Yep, the pet shelter is the local prison.

One last thing. I hate when hurricane season overlaps with lovebug season.

Ya think?!?

It was a little wet at Grandma's house. Her front yard: The turn off to Grandma's house - can you tell she lives in the boonies?

We had a birthday party for my Grandma today. I don't see my mom's family much, but I showed up for this. Not everyone could make it so it wasn't too bad. I had a good laugh watching my cousin's 6 year old daughter try to teach her great-uncle how to play "Rock, Scissors, Paper." He kept messing up and misunderstanding on purpose so she would get mad. She's a pretty intense kid and very dramatic, so it's funny to watch her roll her eyes and sigh in exasperation. Determined lil thing, she never did give up. When they left she told him "That's okay, we'll work on it some more next time I see you."

Happy Birthday

to me, happy birthday to me! 35th birthday at that. I guess one of these days I'll start acting completely grown up. But probably not.

*****************

I think I want a tattoo for my birthday. Hmm, next day off is Friday, maybe? Looks like a trip to Gonzales for me. T is not thrilled with the idea, even though he just got a new one, goes from his shoulder to his elbow, big enough to hide the scar from the railroad spike. I've got one, he has 3 and yet he is worried about me turning into a tattoo addict???? I'm getting one just gotta decide when, where and what. (I've got 2 or 3 that I want, trying to decide which one first)

Shadow's eyes

(Wade's post Cipher cafe reminded me of this)


...forward from - Standing in the Shadow...
You have seen me before, in the spotlight given off by the street lamp at the corner or perhaps in the darker corner of some café. Not the menace of some stalker, just some stranger reading the paper or waiting for a bus. Or perhaps it was down in New Orleans, near the French Market on Decatur Street. When the July sun was so hot, it bleached the colors from your sight. The heat in the air coming off the street seemed to scorch away all your familiar landmarks. Gone were the shades and hues that shaped your world. In front of you other pedestrians were simply another obstacle to avoid. I was there, off to the side, standing in the shadow, taken to pause by the stories unfolding before me . . .
Maybe I wasn't just reading the sports page or waiting for the bus, maybe this is where your character stumbles across the pages of this book I'm reading; a bit part in the Great Play on Life. A full dress rehearsal where you go home each night and review how to be a better actor because tomorrow you will be on stage, again. Me, I am the guy in the audience. I'll be here at the Café du Monde, drinking coffee and eating fresh biegnet, applauding some acts and critiquing others, . . . and trying to make sense of the scenes.
When you have had enough of this hustle and bustle, when you step into the shade to catch your breath, with a half smile and a gesture toward my now empty chair, I will walk away. Somewhere, someone is writing a book I want to read . . . but for now, I'll stand over here . . . in the shadow.
the author


another piece from Shadow. I have always enjoyed seeing the world through another's eyes. Especially someone I know, or think I know, well. There is something lonely about this piece but it's a satisfied loneliness. He chose to remain apart, slipping through the cracks in the world. I am, to a point, the same way. A little more social but on my terms. Other than the people I have to deal with at work and T, I haven't spoken to anyone for a few days. I've lived inside my own head, watching the world continue its mad scurrying without allowing myself to be dragged along. Nothing is wrong, I just want to be apart. That's the nice thing about being a shadow. Unremarkable and unnoticed, I slip away

My first customer today

Well, I guess he wasn't really a customer, since the bastard didn't buy anything. Just ran around, scaring the shit outta me.

Need a better look? Here ya go -

I opened the store this morning and had made several trips back and forth down the front aisle. Never saw the sonuvabitch. Walked around the counter to pull a book from the new paperback rack and there he was. And then he RAN at me. Next thing I know, I've levitated 6 feet in the air and come down sitting on top of the counter with my feet tucked under me. First time I've prayed all friggin' year.
And, of course, no one else is there. NO ONE. Any other morning I'd have had 3 people waiting for me to get there, bitching and moaning and wearing boots. But not this morning. Oh no, my life doesn't work that way. I'm stuck sitting on a counter while Spidey there patrols the front aisle. Every time I tried to get down and sneak to the back he'd run at me again. Back on the counter I'd go. I finally was able to reach the phone and call BL to find out where the bug spray was. All we have is roach spray. "Does that work on spiders?" says I. She says she doesn't see why not. So I wait until he is at the far end of the aisle, jump down and do some running my ownself. Grab the big can of Bengal and walked veeeerrrrryyy slowly back. Spidey is sitting at the front, giving me the evil eye. Waiting...
I sprayed him with Bengal, he walked away. I sprayed again and again and again and... You get the picture. Not only is he an oversized arachnid from Hell, he's a fucking Bionic oversized arachnid from Hell! Damn thing wandered away from a half a can of Bengal like I was flicking raindrops at him.
I couldn't even stomp him, I was wearing flipflops. One of those obscenely long and disgusting legs would have touched me. Or, my luck being the way it is, I'd have missed and the creepy would have run up my leg and chewed out my throat. Not the way I want to spend my morning.
The funnest part? Spidey kept hiding under shelving and then running out as I walked by. Sadistic lil fucker!
Finally a customer wearing boots came in and stomped the disgusting thing. This wonderful man even took a broom and swept the remains out the door and into the parking lot. I wanted to kiss him (I didn't, since he was married and all, but I wanted to)

When BL finally showed, I shared the pic with her. She freaked just from that. I told her I didn't have anything better to do while sitting on the counter. Plus I thought she wouldn't believe how big the thing was unless I had proof. I sure hope this one's big brother isn't waiting for me when I open tomorrow. I just don't think my nerves will handle it.

So go ahead and laugh at me being a big fraidy-cat. Because I was.

And I've had the creepy-crawling wibblies all day. Guess what I'll dream about tonight?

Seasons of change

Resurrection

Fires burning
to melt this Ice
River of Life flows
through my soul
again, waking the Garden
pain of Birth equaled
only by the pleasure of living
Winter's Darkness fades
as the madness of spring
over takes my mind
and I return from
Death again to
Celebrate another year

Nothing comes without a price. Feeling again means opening myself, not just to pleasure, but to pain as well. Learning to trust means learning to live through betrayal. And for every joy celebrated, pain must be endured. This poem is, on the surface, about celebrating the return of spring. I dread winter every year, wait impatiently for warmer weather. It's also about living through the winters of the spirit. The times when our souls seem to freeze and everything around us is dull and gray. If we allow it, the light will return. Everything explodes into color and warmth. It's not easy or painless. If you've lived in shadows for a time the light can burn your eyes. And everything seems so overwhelming. Coping with a resurrection of the spirit can be as painful as the loss that dragged you down. It is a madness, the need to touch, see, taste everything all at the same time. To gorge oneself with experiences, to seize every moment and wring it dry of every nuance. Until exhaustion forces a period of contemplation. A moment to sit and put these events into perspective, organize them into my mind. And add these occasions to my memories, these sights to my eyes, these tastes to my tongue. A weary bacchante, temporarily sated.

Party time!

Too bad it's a pity party. I'm sitting here pouting. It's 10:30 p.m. and I'm not the least bit sleepy. I keep trying to convince myself it's bedtime but nothing works. I'm normally a night owl, though I've learned how to get to bed at a decent hour and get up early in the morning. I hate doing it and I'm usually a bitch until I've done the caffeine and nicotine bit.
The problem tonight is the pity party. As crazy as T drove me these last 6 months, I started missing him something awful when he drove away this evening. His shoulder is mostly healed, the surgeon released him Thursday. He's due in to work tomorrow morning at the office. The office is a 4 hour drive from home, so he headed out tonight. And as ready as both of us were for him to get back to work, I almost cried when his truck got out of sight.
The first night he's gone is always the hardest, especially since he was home so long this time. Tonight it will take forever to fall asleep. And unlike most nights, I'll wake up at every little sound. One miserable Monday coming up.
So Skye and I are sitting here, eating Cool Whip and pecans and snuggling. And waiting to get sleepy.