this is not an actual picture of holly, but it looks a lot like her. if this had been an actual rottweiler of terror, you would have received instructions on how to pacify. butt scratchies are your best bet.
sigh. like she hasn't been listening to my truck pull up in the driveway at odd hours for the last almost four years now. i jumped out and ran to where she could see me. once she sees it's me, she stops. my landlords were woken up, though. they turned on the outside lights and everything. honestly, that dog...
work's getting harder. i have a herniated disk and it's getting worse, and now i can't take advil or aleve anymore because i'm getting an ulcer, so i spend 8 hours on my feet gritting my teeth and hissing and hoping customers don't notice when i freeze and go pale. pain in the ass, quite literally, but there's nothing i can do right now.
read some edgar allan poe in the last week and some. utterly unimpressed. his "murders in the rue morgue" i can liken to someone trying to cash in on that crazy sherlock holmes trend - everyone's been reading about sherlock holmes lately, so maybe i'll write a murder mystery or two and i'll make it JUST LIKE sherlock holmes... oh, except i'll do away with all that tedious plot development, and my guy won't have any of those stupid idiosyncrasies that just get in the way of me expounding upon the science, oh, and people are too stupid to figure shit out for themselves, right? everybody likes after-the-fact exposition better anyway. right? am i right?
sincerest apologies, mr allan poe, but i must slap you upside yo fool head. SCHMACK!! that's for being an annoying prick. sorry. it had to be done.
somewhere around the 40th page, while the author was laboring tediously on about some very nearly unrelated scientific principle, i cashed out. utterly dropped edgar and refused to pick him up again. angsty, victorian sentimental goth bullshit.
then i picked up "walden" by henry david thoreau, and holy crap, there they were, all these wild thoughts i'd been having about the pointless accumulation of wealth for wealth's sake, and the "we gotta have a bmw and a mercedes only we live in a 1974 single-wide mobile home", and all that other stuff, just out there in the open, in actual printed words, and WOW, i felt so light suddenly. validated, in point of fact.
i've lived a very long time knowing that my family loves me because i'm me, but honestly, that ericka, why won't she ever get her head straight and out of the clouds and settle into the real world and just take care of her business like the rest of the world does? honestly, she acts like she's 12...
i have no words. i just really don't. honestly, i wonder how i've survived all these years.
ok, carla, if you're reading this, i know i make you crazy, but it's ok, i don't mind that you think i'm insane and immature. specially not now that i've got mr henry david thoreau to point the way. i'm not insane and immature... i'm a TRANSCENDENTALIST! it's got to be ok, if there's a word for it and everything...
still reading the book. still wrapping my head around it. more later. it's almost 2am, mike is going to be awake in two hours and i need to be asleep NOW. ex-freakin'-hausted...
toodles 'n shit.
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