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everyone's home and dry. i did what any red-blooded American male would do, on Saturday... namely, cleaning the house before my wife arrived home, later that afternoon i rode with Miss Josie's boyfriend (and inseminator) on a sunny ride to Richmond. finally, she may have found a "keeper". meaning, someone worth keeping, and vice-versa. the ex's may have fit the other definition. thus ended a period of relative tranquility. that is, if you consider reclusiveness "tranquility". perhaps that's overstating the situation. from the moment i arrived home, my nose was on the proverbial grindstone, attempting to get as much scraping and reconstruction done as possible in anticipation of vacation. the goal, to have the house painted before departure, seems a little overreaching. damned deterioration. rotted window sills, two of them. rotted soffit boards across the back. little, nagging obstacles. of course, it's supposed to look shitty before the primer goes on. the landlady's (Ilsa, She-wolf Of The SS) choice of exterior colours may not be much improvement, either... grey walls, darker grey shutters, white trim. i suggested a earthy red for the foundation, which was refused out-of-hand... her choice: black. Jebus. a closet MarilynManson fan. strange, how an unpleasant colour-scheme sets my mind to leaving a place that i've occupied for twelve years. YAK! monotone! NaziBitch. ah, the sting of no rent-with-option-to-buy. well, they'll be sorry. let the next tenants live through the first basement flood, avec parfum septic. revenge, she will be sweet. to cap off the daily deluges, the dreams have still been bizarre... especially since i never dream of work. last night, holding hands and eating oysters with the blonde overachiever: now, she may be curvy, but i'd never considered any extra-curricular activities with this woman... the personality, alone, would be the ultimate turn-off. yet, the brain still unreels this little peculiarity. same night, hours later, theDiva was the star of the cranial floorshow: except, i remember only put-downs. compensation dreams? i think not, Mr.Freud. now, i'm away from home. and parched. second verse, same as the first. |
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