It stinks, to high heaven
Jeezus H. Mother-Fucking Chrissakes Almight Fuck. Piss. Shit. Fuck.
Double Fuck.
One minute, my interests and attentions are completely and totally focused on a certain woman’s earlobe; the next, I don’t have a ride to the airport.
And 11 p.m. has passed and I need to leave for said airport at 8 a.m. for wheels up to the Midwest at noon. That’s 12 hours from now.
And my fucking dog gets a hold of a skunk and gets completely, totally blasted in the face.
(Fifteen fucking minutes. That’s it. Zero to 60, as far as skid ratios go, for my world to ass-plode.)
It’s midnight and my house smells of skunk. I am not packed. I have been to the grocery store for Dawn dishwashing liquid and hydrogen peroxide (the baking soda I had). I have been standing in a hot shower, butt-nekked with my dog, rinsing out her eyes. Rinsing out her fur.
I have been butt-nekked in my garage, toweling her off. Squeezing lime juice on her.
And she still stinks.
The essence of a skunk comes from its anus gland, by the way. Which is how I feel right at the moment. Pinched by the anal gland of life. Fucked, as it were. Bent over. Backside.
I do not have time for any of this. I am livid, yet it is mixed with a sense of total wonderment, awe and – yes – humor. I’ve laughed it all off, since this is The Tension and my life is the vortex of the weather blender.
I make my own mayhem.
And I am in a world of shit.
At least I have a new ride to the airport (thank God for a wealth of true friends).
And a willing ear (and neck) to explore when I get back.
You take your loses, you stand there and take the shit life tosses at you, like the monkeys flinging shit at the zoo. You keep taking it, you keep coming back.
Because you are you.
And your dog can’t help but chase things when you’re not looking.
And life is messy.
(I’m still fuming over everything – and nothing at all.)
Fuck.
Give me a few. I’ll be right back…
Double Fuck.
One minute, my interests and attentions are completely and totally focused on a certain woman’s earlobe; the next, I don’t have a ride to the airport.
And 11 p.m. has passed and I need to leave for said airport at 8 a.m. for wheels up to the Midwest at noon. That’s 12 hours from now.
And my fucking dog gets a hold of a skunk and gets completely, totally blasted in the face.
(Fifteen fucking minutes. That’s it. Zero to 60, as far as skid ratios go, for my world to ass-plode.)
It’s midnight and my house smells of skunk. I am not packed. I have been to the grocery store for Dawn dishwashing liquid and hydrogen peroxide (the baking soda I had). I have been standing in a hot shower, butt-nekked with my dog, rinsing out her eyes. Rinsing out her fur.
I have been butt-nekked in my garage, toweling her off. Squeezing lime juice on her.
And she still stinks.
The essence of a skunk comes from its anus gland, by the way. Which is how I feel right at the moment. Pinched by the anal gland of life. Fucked, as it were. Bent over. Backside.
I do not have time for any of this. I am livid, yet it is mixed with a sense of total wonderment, awe and – yes – humor. I’ve laughed it all off, since this is The Tension and my life is the vortex of the weather blender.
I make my own mayhem.
And I am in a world of shit.
At least I have a new ride to the airport (thank God for a wealth of true friends).
And a willing ear (and neck) to explore when I get back.
You take your loses, you stand there and take the shit life tosses at you, like the monkeys flinging shit at the zoo. You keep taking it, you keep coming back.
Because you are you.
And your dog can’t help but chase things when you’re not looking.
And life is messy.
(I’m still fuming over everything – and nothing at all.)
Fuck.
Give me a few. I’ll be right back…
Comments
I hope you got packed and got out the door in time to catch your plane. As we've already said, it's all moot when the flight takes off. Enjoy your time "off."