Coffee heat rising

funny

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And now it’s night-time….

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No longer colder than a by-gawd out in the back yard...but not much fun, come 10:00 p.m., as a venue to stand around waiting for the dawg to do her Thing.

And waiting…and waiting…waiting..

Aarrrrgh!!!!

Traffic is roaring back and forth to the north of us. The ridiculous light-rail train is bong-bong-bonging up and down Main Drag West. And here’s a cop copter, sailing over the house.

Looks like Ruby did her Thing just in time to get us back inside before the party begins. We’re in. The doors are locked. Let us hope that will suffice, for the human & the dog.

Pretty night, though. Would be mighty nice in the absence of a few burglars, car thieves, wannabe rapists, and whatnot.

Blech!!! Begins to make Sun City look good….

 

LOL! NOW what new neurosis???

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Just don’t get old, especially if you’re female. It’s a recipe for escaped marbles! 😀

Seriously (…well…almost…) !  Just roamed out into the backyard, on the trail of the Dawg. So there we are out in back, puttering around. Nice and quiet. Clear sky. Balmy afternoon…

Balmy is right!  😀

Suddenly, weirdly: I’m horrifically scared!  

WHAT the DICKENS brought that on? 

  • Nary a coyote in evidence. (Coyotes don’t especially scare me, anyway.)
  • Nice, clear sky.
  • Dawg in attendance is calm, sniffing around cheerfully.
  • Distant kids are playing and laughing.

Ghosts, right? That’s gotta be the only explanation!

Dart inside with the hound on my heels. Find all is calm and quiet inside the Funny Farm. Dog seems not to have noticed that a marble or two slipped out my ears.

WHAT ON EARTH was THAT about??????

She killed herself. Why, why, WHY the Hell????

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I fail to understand how she could have done anything so stupid. 

It was as though she deliberately incubated the cancer growing in her gut so as to inflict as much suffering as possible not only on herself but on those around her.

She knew.

She knew because she had been through the same horror with her own mother.

She had watched her wild-assed mother fuck her way into a terminal reproductive cancer. And, half a lifetime later, she drank her way and smoked her way into the same damned thing, calculated so as to cause as much suffering as possible for her husband and for her only child. And for herself, while she was at it.

Because she clearly knew what she was doing. I would suggest that what she did was not stupid. It was calculated. She knew she was gonna kill herself. She knew it would cause as much pain and suffering as possible to those around her. And that was her strategy.

So…well…I have to say that what she did was not stupid. It was malign, maybe. Because it was deliberate. Purposeful: she knew.

My poor father! He attended her through just about every moment of her hideous terminal illness, caring for her, feeding her, washing her, medicating her, dragging her to (useless!) doctors…God help him.

No question in my mind: she knew what she was doing.

We had known since the late 1950s that smoking causes cancer. She died while I was pregnant with my son: in the middle 1970s. A good 20 years after the cause and effect were identified. The more she heard of the science, the more she puffed away. I do think she truly believed those reports were Big Brother trying to control her life.

Why, why, why are people so stupid???? 

Oh well. Can’t fix stupid, can you? And you sure can’t undo its results.

The horror of it, though, is pretty straightforward: one’s sense is that what she did was not stupid. It was deliberate. 

She knew what she was doing would kill her, and she engineered the process to create as much suffering and as much stress as could possibly be inflicted on herself and on those around her.

Just. Plain. Evil. 

Key Hell

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LOL! Went to find a key to unlock one of the exterior screens and… Voilà!  a half-dozen goddam different keys!!!! 

It’s taken almost an hour to unjumble that mess, and it’s still not straightened out. Just now: counted NINE keys, a couple of which I don’t even know what they go to.

Part of the problem is, different doors bear different brands of locks. So you can’t just have one or two keys made to work all seven (!!!!) exterior doors. Plus, because these houses back onto public alleys (which call in legions of bums and burglars) which require their own deadbolts, we end up with…hmmm….let us count…

11111 11111 1

ELEVEN LOCKS! 

At one point along the line, as I recall, I did ask a locksmith to key all the locks the same. But, for reasons I do NOT recall, he couldn’t do that. He was able to key a few of the same, but not all of them.

And that leads to an even more confusing mess!!

ooooohhhhh gaawd!! i have gotta have some breakfast. where the hell is that coffee?????????

Understatement of the Century

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Well, it isn’t at all funny (about money or about anything else), but truth to tell, the first thought that entered my mind after this morning’s dawn flood of undisciplined thoughts was “My father’s marrying That Witch after my mother died must have been an unholy disappointment for him.”

Second thought: “Disappointment? What are you smoking?? It was a horror show. A horror show of the wildest, most terrifying character.”

The poor man. 

He didn’t understand: He could not replace my mother after she smoked herself to death.

A woman is not just a woman
A wife is not just a wife.
The love of your life is not a replicable quantity.

But forgodsake, a harridan surely is a harridan.

Marrying that horrid creature after my mother died and he moved himself to the old-folkerie did one thing for him: it brought him several years of utter misery.

Lonely as he might have been without his wife — his real wife, shall we say — he would have been a hundred times better off without the harridan from Hell who pounced him the minute he walked into the senior citizens’ community where he moved after my mother passed.

Some things are worse than the worst thing you can imagine….

Is there a REASON we never notice…???

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{chortle!} Just back from the early morning dawg traipse. It’s a little after 9 a.m.

I take it into my vacant little noggin that I should walk over to the Sprouts (a few blocks away, across Main Drag West), thereinat to buy a new bag of coffee beans and some beloved dawg food and…such-like. What time do they open?

Get online and discover they’ve been open since 7 this morning!

Argha!!!!  If I had a fake “disabled” dog vest for Ruby, we could have darted in there while we were trudging around the neighborhood!

Not quite my style… But…did you realize you can buy those things online? Amazon peddles alleged “disabled” dog vests for a dime a dozen.

Well…a large dime. But still: they’re easily available. Probably can get them in local pet stores, too.

LOL! I was sitting in the church one day when some lady came in with a ridiculous tiny pooch, gussied up in an alleged “disabled” vest. She picked the little guy up and set him on the pew next to her!

Holee holee maquerel!

You don’t see obvious fake “service dog” vests often. Mostly you see them in grocery stores around here, no doubt because dogs are considered too unsanitary to allow in a grocery store. In England, we saw companion dogs everywhere: not just in grocery stores and pharmacies but also in restaurants. Around here, a “service dog” vest is something you might see once every two or three weeks…probably because the things are kind of expensive.

And most people don’t have the chutzpah to tell someone who dares to challenge them to kindly fu*k off. Who needs that kind of confrontation?

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