Iguanas Playing Poker (Think About It)
Alright, so, I've been gone a while. It happens. Get over it (please). My life has the sort of emotional variety characteristic of a poison cactus needle until very recently. I cant say I know exactly how I arrived, but I know I've paid for the trip. Enough, I'm here. Its time to take some pictures, ya know? Stabilization is gradually being achieved.
I realized today that my cat Yoshi is 4 years old. I tracked down the early bit of my journal where I typed words similar in scope and meaning as these - minus the "4 year old bit". She was born in my bedroom along with three other anonymous kittens covered in their mother's vaginal blood, while I was out with a certain Stephanie and a former boss at Zydeco. I came home and it was, like, just happening, man! Blood everywhere! Kira, the mother, was kinda like a cherry smoothie, in parts. The area I purposefully arranged for Kira to rest and then have her kittens in was, (just like a woman [cat]), conveniently forgotten in the passion of the moment. She, in her laborious stupor, stumbled (can quadrupeds stumble?) to an area of my beige, rented carpet immedietly next to the prepared delivery area. Oh, the blood was spectacular (and didnt wash out). I would consider a career as a surgeon (or a serial killer) to see that much blood gushing out of such a concise creature again. You might be saying, "geez...who gives a fuck about your cat". Sorry, person. I'll try to keep the relevant cat-birthday chatter to a minimum. Usually, I only celebrate an animal's birthday if they are tasty. I dont know if Yoshi is tasty. Yet. Party hats and seasonings are on standby.
Since this is Live Journal, I will now mention those things that must get mentioned via Live Journal. Complaints. School and Weight. I am heavy and I am stupid. Those who know me are certainly tired of hearing my dull, repeating bitching - like the sound of an iguana trying to play poker (think about it). Gettin dangerously close to thirty and still no degrees. I am working on them of course, but they - like the flying cars, teleportation, and legalized Marajuana - are perpetually in the future-to-be. Katie keeps saying the after-school-special stuff, and she is right. I know I got the stuff to do it. I certainly hope my instincts are right. However, I wonder how many 60-something-year-old creepy janitors I've worked with in my life have felt the same emotionally nervous, youth-invigorated plateau only to slowly succumb to the eventual, hardened realization that, just like Dereck the kid with the down syndrome in the 6th grade, they, too, have the intellectual capacity of a small herd of llamas (apologize to the down syndrome people following my Live Journal Log. And to llamas everywhere). All I can do, though, is truck along on the only path I care about until I am finally tested in a meaningful capacity. How soon will that be? Its possible it could be as soon as next semester, I think. If so, it may finally be a time to celebrate (or go home) with a big feast. And i think my cat Yoshi might be the guest of honor.
I realized today that my cat Yoshi is 4 years old. I tracked down the early bit of my journal where I typed words similar in scope and meaning as these - minus the "4 year old bit". She was born in my bedroom along with three other anonymous kittens covered in their mother's vaginal blood, while I was out with a certain Stephanie and a former boss at Zydeco. I came home and it was, like, just happening, man! Blood everywhere! Kira, the mother, was kinda like a cherry smoothie, in parts. The area I purposefully arranged for Kira to rest and then have her kittens in was, (just like a woman [cat]), conveniently forgotten in the passion of the moment. She, in her laborious stupor, stumbled (can quadrupeds stumble?) to an area of my beige, rented carpet immedietly next to the prepared delivery area. Oh, the blood was spectacular (and didnt wash out). I would consider a career as a surgeon (or a serial killer) to see that much blood gushing out of such a concise creature again. You might be saying, "geez...who gives a fuck about your cat". Sorry, person. I'll try to keep the relevant cat-birthday chatter to a minimum. Usually, I only celebrate an animal's birthday if they are tasty. I dont know if Yoshi is tasty. Yet. Party hats and seasonings are on standby.
Since this is Live Journal, I will now mention those things that must get mentioned via Live Journal. Complaints. School and Weight. I am heavy and I am stupid. Those who know me are certainly tired of hearing my dull, repeating bitching - like the sound of an iguana trying to play poker (think about it). Gettin dangerously close to thirty and still no degrees. I am working on them of course, but they - like the flying cars, teleportation, and legalized Marajuana - are perpetually in the future-to-be. Katie keeps saying the after-school-special stuff, and she is right. I know I got the stuff to do it. I certainly hope my instincts are right. However, I wonder how many 60-something-year-old creepy janitors I've worked with in my life have felt the same emotionally nervous, youth-invigorated plateau only to slowly succumb to the eventual, hardened realization that, just like Dereck the kid with the down syndrome in the 6th grade, they, too, have the intellectual capacity of a small herd of llamas (apologize to the down syndrome people following my Live Journal Log. And to llamas everywhere). All I can do, though, is truck along on the only path I care about until I am finally tested in a meaningful capacity. How soon will that be? Its possible it could be as soon as next semester, I think. If so, it may finally be a time to celebrate (or go home) with a big feast. And i think my cat Yoshi might be the guest of honor.