Holeeee maquerel! WHAT is going on here?
Just tried to call my son, thinking it’s about dinnertime — around 6:30 in the evening.
But…
No….
No, folks: it’s breakfast-time!
It’s not 6:30 in the evening. It’s 6:30 in the morning!!!!
Understandably, he was pretty peeved at being rousted from the sack at this hour.
And I’m pretty scared.
Scared that I’m so turned around and so goddamned confused that I don’t know whether it’s morning or night!
****
How terrifying!
Well. I guess this is a signal. And that signal’s meaning is pretty obvious:
Time to sell the house and move into a holding pen for the elderly.
Guess I’m headed for the Beatitudes, a “life-care community” that stores you during the last months or (God forfend!) years of your life, as you rot away into senility.
Dear Lord! How I would ever so much rather be dead!
Seriously: I just abominate institutional living. Hated hated HATED living in the dorms in college. And now…goddammit! Now I have to end my life that way?
Time to look into alternatives. I simply cannot wind up my life locked into a dormitory for the senile. If I weren’t already crazy when they hauled me off to such a place, I would soon be stark raving insane.
There’s gotta be a better way to go. Let’s find out what it is. And…exit, stage left.