if you're not with us...
Happy "Patriot Day" (according to my wall calendar).
I had the pleasure of being awakened at 6:00 AM by the sound of fighter jets doing low-altitude runs over my neighborhood. And yes, I can now identify the sound, because they just love to do their runs over where I live, while I'm trying to sleep.
I had to take some passionflower extract and lie back down, or else I would have started screaming and run into the street, naked as a jaybird. I really, really don't handle that shit well, not while I'm not fully conscious. Yes, I get panic attacks at the sound of fighter jets. Apparently that's abnormal or something. I feel like a dirty, weak loser, but if I can't see the plane, I don't know where it is or what it's doing, and I damn well want to get a visual ID and make sure there's nothing that it's chasing, or what it's about to do, like, say, firebomb our neighborhood because they saw a perp running with a TV set in a shopping cart.
It reminds me that I need to start sleeping fully clothed, and with a packed bag at bedside, so that in case I need to get up and run forever, I can actually do that. Or else get some cyanide capsules, just in case I really just don't feel like getting up, but I hear "them" breaking down my neighbors' doors and shooting anything that moves.
Today, I'm just glad to be alive, even though pretty much everything is pissing me off and irritating my already-frayed nerves. But no, glad to be alive, safe, fat, and working in the comic book industry. And not being Britney. She and Owen Wilson really should be talking right now.
I had the pleasure of being awakened at 6:00 AM by the sound of fighter jets doing low-altitude runs over my neighborhood. And yes, I can now identify the sound, because they just love to do their runs over where I live, while I'm trying to sleep.
I had to take some passionflower extract and lie back down, or else I would have started screaming and run into the street, naked as a jaybird. I really, really don't handle that shit well, not while I'm not fully conscious. Yes, I get panic attacks at the sound of fighter jets. Apparently that's abnormal or something. I feel like a dirty, weak loser, but if I can't see the plane, I don't know where it is or what it's doing, and I damn well want to get a visual ID and make sure there's nothing that it's chasing, or what it's about to do, like, say, firebomb our neighborhood because they saw a perp running with a TV set in a shopping cart.
It reminds me that I need to start sleeping fully clothed, and with a packed bag at bedside, so that in case I need to get up and run forever, I can actually do that. Or else get some cyanide capsules, just in case I really just don't feel like getting up, but I hear "them" breaking down my neighbors' doors and shooting anything that moves.
Today, I'm just glad to be alive, even though pretty much everything is pissing me off and irritating my already-frayed nerves. But no, glad to be alive, safe, fat, and working in the comic book industry. And not being Britney. She and Owen Wilson really should be talking right now.