I've been horribly sick for this whole week. sick as in: laying on the couch under three blankets, drinking plain old hot water, and just watching my four channels on the television. you know. as we do. hacking up shit from the bottommost depths of my lungs and just plain snotting all over my own face. graphic and yet totally true to real life.
but finally, finally; FINALLY I'm starting to feel better. I can't stop coughing & hacking up shit, but at least I don't feel like this achey streaming pressurized mess.
it's full on springtime now. I don't care what john fisher and his five degree piece of shit say. it's sunny in the mornings now; when I wake up, there's beams and stripes of sunlight making my blankets all tosty. I really get hit with seasonal depression hard every year, and I don't realize it till after the winter is in the past. I wore flipflops and shorts yesterday, which was long overdue. it's april & I have never been more ready for it.
when I wasn't on the couch this week, I was cleaning. I threw out a lot of my old shit--old notebooks and papers and toys. I gave a bunch of shit away to goodwill--old clothes and costumes and things I was holding onto for no concieveable reason. (I'm part of this packrat family and we have the hardest time trashing shit. sometimes I wonder why this is. then I started finding broken headbands and shoes without any real sole left, and it just started pissing me off instead.) I felt like renewed almost, like if I could just shake this cough and congestion, I would be this reborn person.
I've been looking forward to next week. I don't really know why; nothing is happening next week, to speak of. I have to get a girl naked in the wings of the little theater every night (heeeey quick changer), and I'm catsitting, and of course there's always a million projects and stuff due, on top of trying to find a damn job, make resumes, and figure out the rest of my life. but next week seems monumenteous to me. I guess I'll get back to you on why exactly. but I've got this feeling that it's got something to do with the rest of my life.
inspired to figure out what the hell this feeling is about, I looked up my horoscope.
"Today, your presence will be requested by many fun-loving people, but your mood might not make it easy to get social. Like a broken swing set, your mood will be going back and forth unpredictably -- and someone could get hurt. Your mind will wander with little provocation right now, and it could be difficult for you to concentrate. So if you are working on detail-oriented tasks, you are going to have to give yourself plenty of extra time to get them done."
I suppose those "detail-oriented tasks" refers to my job situation/quandry. How astute of you, horoscope.
then I looked up my cat's horoscope. I didn't even know they made cat horoscopes. I mean I guess that makes sense, because cats have birthdays. I was like "who the hell would check their cat's horoscope, ugh!" ...and then I realized obviously I the hell would check my cat's horoscope, because I was.
"Today is perfect for group activities -- playing, cuddling or just sitting around together, enjoying the good energy. You and your fellow cats are getting along better than ever, so have a good time!"
I hope that's true. I don't want to hang out with bratty cats for a whole week oh my god. I guess cat horoscopes are no more retarded than cat blogs or something. but seriously. unless you can type you don't need a blog. unless you can read or a brain that comprehends the future beyond about five seconds, you don't need a horoscope. probably the horoscopes for cats are written by crazy cat ladies who want desperately to know what their cat is thinking. probably the same ladies who buy those books about reading your cat's mind, or put their cat on the "pet psychic".
man, what happened to the pet psychic. oh sonja. she was one crazy chick. asking questions about the horse's best friend, talking about dogs liking banjo music, and whatever. I did some reaserch and I guess there were only like 13 episodes of that shit. I wonder why that is, sonja. maybe it's because most people don't mind not know about mr. paws' past life. maybe there were only so many troubled parakeets. maybe everyone bought your book, learned how to be a pet psychic themselves, and never had to use your services again. or maybe animal planet finally saw through your crock of shit psychic abilities and decided to stop giving you money and air time, and instead put on something more worthwhile. like I don't know, Ape Eden or that soap opera about the meerkats. I mean I don't know, I don't have cable, I just have 4 channels.
when my cats get here, I'm going to try reading their minds. first I'll ask them who their best friends are. and then I'll ask them if they believe in their horoscope.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment