Category: Words

What the fuck am I going to write?

It’s well after midnight and I am home from Tequila Hill. Not entirely chemically myself.

What am I going to blog about??

We had great food. A lot to drink. Good people.

Rocky is here.

I have new equipment.

We talked about race and color with Nok and Donnie. Am I wrong or was Donnie kind of flirting with me? I am out of practice.

We talked about pubic hair, tattoos and how race impacts what sort of tattoo you decide to get, and if it’s gender that impacts that decision more than race or color.

Tyson is pissed off because all the 50 year olds are looking at their phones instead of talking to him.

Communication is hard.

Writing every single day is hard. Especially if you are not home for several hours a day to write, and/or just don’t really feel like it. Or if you are..altered.
Or all of the above.

Anyway, it was another great evening on Tequila Hill.

Somehow it always is.

Am I imagining it, or did we really decide to meet for breakfast at 0800?

Isn’t that kind of early??

It’s the end of the world as we know it…

“Not only are there no happy endings,’ she told him, ‘there aren’t even any endings.”
–Neil Gaiman/American Gods

Is it really that there are no endings, or is it just that you really don’t know when something has really, truly, definitely ended until you yourself have ceased to be?

In the book American Gods (which you all should read, because it’s wonderful in nearly every way a book can be wonderful) the goddess Bast tells the newly dead Shadow this as he hopes to be able to choose a happy ending to his life once he has been judged. A goddess knows.

She knows that even death may not be final.

Shadow already knows this, as he had accidentally resurrected his own dead wife earlier in the book. I hate it when that happens.

I suspect some things are final. About as final as death, anyway. There are some people I fully intend and expect to stay dead to me even though they are probably still alive. I have been wrong about that in at least one case, so I do wonder. If you can forgive what previously seemed unforgivable, I suppose it leaves an entry for a non-ending. Whatever that looks like.

With a long enough time frame, does everything and everyone come back around to pop out at you like the hand coming out of the grave at the end of Carrie? I suppose it could be more of a happy non-ending, which is really what we mean when there’s a happy ending. Unless it’s a happy ending like in horror movies when people just stop getting eaten by zombies.

Do I even have a point here? I am not at all sure I do.
It’s the cat’s fault. He won’t let me sleep.
Having a crispy fried brain is not conducive to such things as coherent thought and logical writing.

Or maybe it’s more like jelly…
Still.

I suspect Bast was probably not entirely correct. Some people never look back. Never think of the people, places, things they leave behind. Or so I hear. If you still think about something or someone, can you really say it has ended?

Maybe.
Maybe not.

I used to be so decisive about this sort of thing.

Black and white.

Now?
Full spectrum color.

Except my hair, which is starting to be gray.
Is that an ending of my brown hair or a beginning of a new color?
Hmmm?

Summer is starting today. Is that a beginning of a new season, an end to the old one, or simply a continuation of eternal time?
All of the above.

It all depends on your perspective, doesn’t it?







An imaginary conversation with my cat

Get your tail out of my nose. Some of us are trying to sleep in.

Squeeeek.

There is food in your dish. Go and eat it and leave me alone.

Squeak.

Shut up. You do, too.

Peep.

(Throws stupid cat on floor…one hour later he is back)

Purrrrrrrrrrrr. Head butt. Purrrrrrrrrrr.

Go away, Ratty. Remember what I said about sleeping? It’s still true.

Purrrrrrr

I don’t need a cat to lay on my head right now. Go away and be quiet. (Shoves cat to foot of bed)

(Stupid cat puts his wet cat nose on my (still trying to sleep) nose and breathes intently.)

A certain cat is going to be living outside permanently if he doesn’t get away from me with his icky cat nose. Do something useful. Make me some coffee.

Squeak.

Stupid rat.

(Boops me on the nose with his paw)

Goodbye, Kitty. (Kitty lands on the floor with a loud thump and stomps down the hall in a huff.) Little cat feet my ass.

Mrrrrrrroooooowwwwwwwwwwwwww.

I hate cats.

(Clomp, clomp, clomp back to the bedroom like a herd of elephants with giant walkers and wooden clogs) Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr (Jumps on headboard, stalks back and forth like a very rotund miniature tuxedo lion)

Shut up and lay down.

(Jumps from headboard onto pillow, walks down my entire body, flings himself dramatically into an elegant position and promptly goes to sleep)

Fucker. You could have at least brought me the coffee. I hate cats. I am going to stay home all day today and poke you with a stick every time you fall asleep or even look like you are about to sit down. No! I am going to go to the pound and get the most irritating dog in the world to be on your ass night and day. I don’t care if I never sleep again. Making you suffer will be worth it (scritching Kitty under the chin) Asshole. Stop being cute. You aren’t impressing anyone.