An Unstable Universe, Attempted Raccoon Murder, Lack of Gun Control, Cave Man Clubs and the joy of Warm Pliant Pussy
I'm antsy today. I want to jump out of my skin. I feel like my fight or flight reflex has a hair trigger today. I've felt like this before. I know that I'll have a number of uncomfortable ( for me) encounters with people where I'm sure that my reactions will be inappropriate or odd. I'll try to adjust for my desire to punch someone, almost anyone really, right in the nose or conversely my desire to flee any casual conversations that might occur. This will make me overcompensate so as not to say anything odd. It is all for naught though. After talking to me people will likely say "now, that was odd."
I've gotten into real arguments that sort of spiral out of control on days like this. Usually with my girlfriend. I feel bad for her, but I pretty much can't contain myself. I don't really know how to think and feel today. I'm not trying to be an ass, but my judgment as far as interpersonal matters goes is all out of whack. She better not ask me to pass the butter at dinner or else all hell will break loose. We all know what she really means when she says stuff like that.
My mood today is an excellent argument for gun control. If I owned a handgun I'd probably be carrying it. It would be comfortably nestled in my lap as I type this in case I have any difficulties with my computer -- in case I have to reboot it. I'd probably carry the gun in my hand all day, cocked and loaded, just to make me feel better. Not that I really want to hurt anyone, just in case you know. Shit happens . . . and, worse yet, shit happens to me, even when I'm just trying to get through the day . . in hull down position. It pays to be prepared, that's what I always say (OK, I never say that). Some people, like the prof. who expects me to edit his 20 page proposal in an hour for instance, might be better off filled with smoking lead. Yee hah . . I'm off to the sporting goods store!
Ok. Not really. People like me should not have butter knives or nail clippers ( hedge clippers even) let alone guns. I'm not to be trusted. Girl scouts could knock on my door wanting to monger their cookies. Mistakes could be made. There are no do-overs in multiple homicides. Drat my luck anyway.
Cats help when I feel like this. (I'm not cat gay or anything I just recognize the therapeutic power of fifteen pounds of warm purring fur . . nothing wrong with that). Cats are the only creatures that I can relate with in a semi-normal manner when I'm all out of sorts. Cats want food, they want to come in or go out. They want to sit on your lap or for you to stay the hell away from them. That is pretty much the extent of it. Even in my jangly state I can read my cats moods and react appropriately. I wish people would stick to scripts like that today, for the good of the group.
Raccoons, however, are not so good for me on days like this. I felt like this three weeks ago. I was sick on top of it. Stomache problems. I'm pretty sure my digestive system is ready to quit. I'm never hungry. I'm often queasy. Whatever.
Anyway so I was sick and out of sorts and I heard a raccoon facing off against one of my cats on my deck. Out I go, to rescue my cat (Noodles if you are keeping track). Noodles, of course, promptly runs away. The raccoon stands there looking at me. I keep this piece of driftwood by my door. Part as decoration and part as a means of fending off the wild life that not infrequently decide my deck is a good place to be (Note to friendly woodland critters: my deck is not a good place for you to be). Anyway so I grab this piece of drift wood -- OK, OK, I admit it. The driftwood is slightly bigger than your average baseball bat, it it really more of a cave man club -- so I grab my club and I brandish at the raccoon hoping to scare the bejesus out if it. It doesn't scare it at all. In fact, the raccoon sort of rears up at me, obviously in preparation for leaping at my face and ripping it off with its all too human looking paws. When it does this I ever so gently whack it with my club, err. . my piece of driftwood. I whacked on it's temple approximately.
I expected it to run. I expected to scare it away. I swear, I didn't hit it all that hard -- I remember it as a flick of the wrist rather than a full armed swing. But my reactions, as you will know if you've been keeping track, were all out of whack. So instead of skittering away in indignation the stupid raccoon sprawls out on the deck, twitching around in a sort of a seizure. I actually see raccoon drool foaming out of it's little disgusting rodent mouth. I'm horrified of course. Eventually after a few seconds the raccoon gains control of its rear legs (It's front legs are still twitching spasmodically ) and sort of scoots off of the edge of the deck like some kind of epileptic motor boat. I hear it tumbling down the lattice that screens the porch below my deck and scramble off towards the wild part of my back yard. And I'm thinking A) why the hell did I do that? and B) this club seems to work pretty good.
I would have never actually hit the raccoon had I had my wits about me -- poke, prod and harass certainly, but never, ever whack. Raccoon whacking is whack as all the hep cats say. All of this took about 45 seconds by the way. Not nearly enough time for me to master my emotions at all. No raccoon jury in the land would convict me. I had temporary insanity and a cave man club --A recipe for disaster if there ever was one.
I had a conversation with a work buddy a few minutes ago about the situation in our office ( it's sick! sick I tell you). I found myself getting all wound up. then I found myself getting all depressed. Usually we just talk through these things for my entertainment or to give her some perspective. Today I failed at both of those goals. It just riled me up.
So I'm out of sorts, antsy nervous, uncertain of my reactions, and considering buying a hand gun. At the very least I should have brought my club to work today.
But maybe it's not me. Maybe I'm the normal one and the universe is out of whack. Maybe it is you people. I've read science fiction ( or maybe pop science) or inspirational literature ( all the same really) that describes the really important part of the universe as just wave forms. you and I, the unfortunate raccoon, and the doomed girl scout cookie mongers are all just standing waves, masses of vibrations, a variation in the density and frequency of the universe. Sort of like tuning forks without the fork part. Tuning forks that don't need to be whacked against anything to vibrate. So if that is true, and I fervently hope it is today, maybe I'm just a sort of tuning fork whose frequency is sweet and true and the rest of the universe, including you, Gentle reader, are out of tune. Maybe that's all dreck and I just need a valium. Whatever gets me through the day.
I'm antsy today. I want to jump out of my skin. I feel like my fight or flight reflex has a hair trigger today. I've felt like this before. I know that I'll have a number of uncomfortable ( for me) encounters with people where I'm sure that my reactions will be inappropriate or odd. I'll try to adjust for my desire to punch someone, almost anyone really, right in the nose or conversely my desire to flee any casual conversations that might occur. This will make me overcompensate so as not to say anything odd. It is all for naught though. After talking to me people will likely say "now, that was odd."
I've gotten into real arguments that sort of spiral out of control on days like this. Usually with my girlfriend. I feel bad for her, but I pretty much can't contain myself. I don't really know how to think and feel today. I'm not trying to be an ass, but my judgment as far as interpersonal matters goes is all out of whack. She better not ask me to pass the butter at dinner or else all hell will break loose. We all know what she really means when she says stuff like that.
My mood today is an excellent argument for gun control. If I owned a handgun I'd probably be carrying it. It would be comfortably nestled in my lap as I type this in case I have any difficulties with my computer -- in case I have to reboot it. I'd probably carry the gun in my hand all day, cocked and loaded, just to make me feel better. Not that I really want to hurt anyone, just in case you know. Shit happens . . . and, worse yet, shit happens to me, even when I'm just trying to get through the day . . in hull down position. It pays to be prepared, that's what I always say (OK, I never say that). Some people, like the prof. who expects me to edit his 20 page proposal in an hour for instance, might be better off filled with smoking lead. Yee hah . . I'm off to the sporting goods store!
Ok. Not really. People like me should not have butter knives or nail clippers ( hedge clippers even) let alone guns. I'm not to be trusted. Girl scouts could knock on my door wanting to monger their cookies. Mistakes could be made. There are no do-overs in multiple homicides. Drat my luck anyway.
Cats help when I feel like this. (I'm not cat gay or anything I just recognize the therapeutic power of fifteen pounds of warm purring fur . . nothing wrong with that). Cats are the only creatures that I can relate with in a semi-normal manner when I'm all out of sorts. Cats want food, they want to come in or go out. They want to sit on your lap or for you to stay the hell away from them. That is pretty much the extent of it. Even in my jangly state I can read my cats moods and react appropriately. I wish people would stick to scripts like that today, for the good of the group.
Raccoons, however, are not so good for me on days like this. I felt like this three weeks ago. I was sick on top of it. Stomache problems. I'm pretty sure my digestive system is ready to quit. I'm never hungry. I'm often queasy. Whatever.
Anyway so I was sick and out of sorts and I heard a raccoon facing off against one of my cats on my deck. Out I go, to rescue my cat (Noodles if you are keeping track). Noodles, of course, promptly runs away. The raccoon stands there looking at me. I keep this piece of driftwood by my door. Part as decoration and part as a means of fending off the wild life that not infrequently decide my deck is a good place to be (Note to friendly woodland critters: my deck is not a good place for you to be). Anyway so I grab this piece of drift wood -- OK, OK, I admit it. The driftwood is slightly bigger than your average baseball bat, it it really more of a cave man club -- so I grab my club and I brandish at the raccoon hoping to scare the bejesus out if it. It doesn't scare it at all. In fact, the raccoon sort of rears up at me, obviously in preparation for leaping at my face and ripping it off with its all too human looking paws. When it does this I ever so gently whack it with my club, err. . my piece of driftwood. I whacked on it's temple approximately.
I expected it to run. I expected to scare it away. I swear, I didn't hit it all that hard -- I remember it as a flick of the wrist rather than a full armed swing. But my reactions, as you will know if you've been keeping track, were all out of whack. So instead of skittering away in indignation the stupid raccoon sprawls out on the deck, twitching around in a sort of a seizure. I actually see raccoon drool foaming out of it's little disgusting rodent mouth. I'm horrified of course. Eventually after a few seconds the raccoon gains control of its rear legs (It's front legs are still twitching spasmodically ) and sort of scoots off of the edge of the deck like some kind of epileptic motor boat. I hear it tumbling down the lattice that screens the porch below my deck and scramble off towards the wild part of my back yard. And I'm thinking A) why the hell did I do that? and B) this club seems to work pretty good.
I would have never actually hit the raccoon had I had my wits about me -- poke, prod and harass certainly, but never, ever whack. Raccoon whacking is whack as all the hep cats say. All of this took about 45 seconds by the way. Not nearly enough time for me to master my emotions at all. No raccoon jury in the land would convict me. I had temporary insanity and a cave man club --A recipe for disaster if there ever was one.
I had a conversation with a work buddy a few minutes ago about the situation in our office ( it's sick! sick I tell you). I found myself getting all wound up. then I found myself getting all depressed. Usually we just talk through these things for my entertainment or to give her some perspective. Today I failed at both of those goals. It just riled me up.
So I'm out of sorts, antsy nervous, uncertain of my reactions, and considering buying a hand gun. At the very least I should have brought my club to work today.
But maybe it's not me. Maybe I'm the normal one and the universe is out of whack. Maybe it is you people. I've read science fiction ( or maybe pop science) or inspirational literature ( all the same really) that describes the really important part of the universe as just wave forms. you and I, the unfortunate raccoon, and the doomed girl scout cookie mongers are all just standing waves, masses of vibrations, a variation in the density and frequency of the universe. Sort of like tuning forks without the fork part. Tuning forks that don't need to be whacked against anything to vibrate. So if that is true, and I fervently hope it is today, maybe I'm just a sort of tuning fork whose frequency is sweet and true and the rest of the universe, including you, Gentle reader, are out of tune. Maybe that's all dreck and I just need a valium. Whatever gets me through the day.
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