I'm tired. So tired. No, not like the old Kinks song,
I'm so tired,
Tired of waiting,
Tired of waiting for you...
Not that. I'm just ... tired. Maybe I don't feel quite like a zombie, but it's probably a little too close for comfort. I've been running like a machine all week, both at home and at work, and staying up too late, which makes it seem like I'm getting up too early. I don't like feeling so tired. I don't like that "dragging" feeling. I hate feeling drained. When I feel this tired, I'm prone to reading things into things that aren't there -- or subject to suddenly getting hit upside the head with certain truths so profound they set my hair on fire. Great balls of fire.
Tomorrow, I'm leaving town until Sunday. I'm heading east to the coast, going to visit my sister, and we'll just see if I'm a complete zombie by the time I get back. Empirical evidence tells me that it's a distinct possibility. She will do her ever-lovin' best to wear me out, mentally and physically. I'll let you know how well she does. Of course, her best shot at me will glance right off as soon as I get myself onto a beach and into the water. The ocean is a great restorative -- the great equalizer. Don't get me wrong -- I love my sister, but we've both said more than once that we fare better with some distance between us. I guess we're both willful and set in our ways. Oh, and this is the first time my dog will be staying in Sis's house, and Sis has a love-hate relationship with dogs; meaning, she likes them okay if they stay pretty much out of sight. I used to either board her or stay in a pet-friendly hotel. I don't board her any more, and Sis says it's "okay," so we'll see. God help us all if my dog gets nervous and pees on the floor. Or worse. Sis also doesn't like for dogs to smell like dogs. Hellooooo? They're ... dogs. I happen to love the scent of eau de dawg. But I am nothing if not cooperative -- and inventive. Did you know that if you wipe your dog down with a feminine hygiene towelette, said dog will smell perfectly presentable? Yes, siree, Bob. I am ready for Freddy, me and my dog that will smell like a ... whatever.
True story: Several years, my mom flew down to visit Sis for a week. Her second night there, she called me and I could tell right off that her voice sounded strange. It got even stranger when she asked if I could come and get her.
"Where are you?" I asked.
"In the garage."
"Your sister's," she said.
"Why are you in the garage?" I inquired.
"So she won't hear me. I can't get a flight out of here until tomorrow afternoon. Can you drive down here and get me?"
"Mom, it's a 6-hour drive. I can't. You're supposed to be there all week. Why do you want to come home now?"
"Because she's driving me insane!"
And coming from my mother, that's saying something.
And now I turn you over to a safer, saner subject -- TWISTED LINGUISTICS.
probabaly - The possibility of the band playing Babalu, which the crowd is all for.
firey furnace - Place for burning doomed Christmas trees.
devestating - "I'm wearing the vest thingie."
just lept out - Something you're likely to encounter from drunken, unsteady gnomes.
artefacts - "This is the dish."
Oh, here's something to look forward to. Sheesh.
|Your Anti Climactic Fortune|
Deep into your future, I forsee: A modest weight gain