Tuesday, July 5, 2016

Finally found my cellphone

Finally found my cellphone—on the lam since Memorial Day Weekend. Not so sure if I'm glad I found it, or not. It's supposed to buzz and spin on its back like a hissing Hawaiian cockroach, when I call it. Hmmmf. Kafka's dead, I tell you. So much for Metamorphosis. Twigged my neck scooting all over the floor into deep corners, on my stomach, like a very large dustmop. Nursing a headache and a prodigious thirst. Didn't get anything done on my To Do list. Too traumatized. Just forget about any passwords working. Not in the cards. Yesterday the neighbor went on a batshit crazy rampage over rats. Tried to board up OUR crawlspace. I said But what about the 'possom who lives there? I won't mention the black widow nested under the Route 66 thermometer, I was playing toesies with. That's one way to get your kicks. More like kicking and screaming. I seem to have my own personal lowgrade Mercury retrograde techie cloud following me. The gnarliest of which, is that my wireless keyboard has completely lost its bluetoothy mind. Or has exquisite caviar taste in batteries. Stupid brushed al-u-mini-um battery-sucker stalls, stutters, or plain old types unrelated letters. Maddening ghost in the machine. I have to smack it like paddle to get it to work again. (It's holding its own now, small miracle.) No way I'm gonna upgrade the new hard drives in my computers now. Not in this state. I'm all elbows, arseholes, and emotional sinkholes. Make that a black hole. Mateo got my hopes up, told me to freeze my crashed hard drives for an hour, and maybe they'll start. Nope. Dyslexia is having a field day, unchaperoned, with spare change in its pocketses. Think I'll sit in the garden and watch the fennel grow. Maybe set the clock to 5PM. It's 5 o'clock somewhere, right? Maybe on the Yeast Coast. But, yeah, I'm fresh out of milk, which, in this household, is tantamount to a nuclear disaster, and coaxing himself to go get milk requires strategic tactics, I don't have the chops, and I don't dare drive with this techno-cloud hanging over me. The stolen car whose gifts keep on giving: like the new wheel bearings in Willits. I won't mention the quirky ignition tricks. Let's just say, you don't need a key anymore. Parking now requires a S&M steering wheel club and clutch club bondage routine. I can't seem to get anything done, let alone, done right. Spazzykakes crazy. Blame it on NASA's Juno orbiting Jupiter, which, apparently, is a big ball of gas. Juno is searching of an explanation on our humble beginnings, how everything started. 'Splains a lot.
And how was your day, Dearie?

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