Lord let Trump’s results be positive.
In my dreams to stay asleep I decide it must be BBQ. The last time I smelled smoke there was a fire the next day. The flashlight revealed nothing, not even the hoary bats in the trees. Meeshoo is usually excited to explore but had to be prompted to keep up. We checked the neighbors properties. A perimeter search only to find a garage light and a guy’s back in a 5AM huffing chemical cloud of ice. I did not disturb to ask if he knew where the FIRE was. That smoke was just garden variety ICE CAPADES. I would call the Fire Dept and tell them but I don’t see anything yet, I’m going back out now. It’s light and getting thicker.
Without a bathroom and the tile man in Vegas? My house has become a lavatory. I’ve learned that piss is fine stewing for a few hours in a receptacle but that an alchemy occurs after 24 hours developing mildness into a pungent sharp bleach punch. I must have misted my leg peeing outside or carrying the chamber pot to and fro, to the sink outside, the weeds. I’ve become a nose that doesn’t know where it’s coming from. I’ve used up all the PISSOFF. I reordered the UNRINEOFF. The “eat it out” enzymatic spray is just offensive. I have washer woman’s elbow from scrubbing the carpet and need a break. Why not make soap, right? I collect old rare Sandalwood oils and used a blend of Ceylon and Sri Lankan in my cold process but when the lye hardened into a log, all I could detect was hot dogs and urine. I should mention this is messing Meschoo up and she thought OH IT MUST BE OK TO PISS INSIDE THE HOUSE NOW. Dogs always piss on top of each other. Anyway I just stepped into a pool she left at the foot of my memorial plastic potty when I went to sit down.
Kids wake up we have a pandemic. OK so I’ve ordered my N95 respirators. A 30 pack of HAZMAT suits. I chose the white onesie hooded, although without the hood was cuter. Just need to get the dogs vegetarian canned food. The cats are so fucked.
I have commanded John backed to base in opposition to the sleepy overlords of the DOD who have ordered him to fly a petri dish to the DC area for training. He will be quarantined if he ever gets home. To the leaky tent he erected in the yard for our bad fights when they become toxic. A few weeks in the cooler won’t even register to a zen camper. What a rigmarole, this excursion, sending my engineer, to some undisclosed bank locale, because this is what engineers do, accounting. Let me interpret when they say mortality is at 2 percent it really means 9 or 10. The mysterious transmission of this bat out of hell makes HIV in comparison a common cold.
I took my 80 mcg of thyroid at 6 waking up the dogs and snapped on a pair of blue latex gloves. A quick squat on the rental porta-potty and then the my laptop check in. Just last month I would consult the radar to confirm my cloud spottings. With COVID19 I’ve transitioned to checking the spread. I know with certainty that my lungs, this body can’t take it. I can’t lift the hurricane shields John made for the windows. Anyway the dump opens at 7:15 and I noticed baby maggots yesterday in the trash next to my sandwich bags of shit so I have to move early. I’m remodeling.
It used to annoy me when friends would tap before me. Like Audrey tapped baths. I complained about it to our circle. I said it isn’t fair, you can’t tap baths. The consensus disagreed and found no foul. She tapped baths first and I felt robbed. It was like Audrey had invented baths. Her proclamation had given her a cachet and identity that was mine too. But now that she tapped it everyone associated her with baths. She was sensual and clean and I wasn’t. Audrey would forever be the girl who loved baths. The race to tap in those years was full on and some girls were rabid and voracious tapping all day everyday. Fish sticks, Limburger Cheese, the Monkees, Bowie, a larger than king size bed. Boys could be tapped too and once they were tapped they couldn’t be tapped again.
Yellow leaf paper stacked and dusty outside. Tucked into a plastic drawer on the top shelf by the front door with a bungee cord ~ what to do with it? Travelogues of mother’s, grandmother’s pocket journals. A tummy ache of crowded appointments without air. Nothing about us. Sandra trashed her mother’s yearbook and I want to try. Except for May 5 1984, a reader on Olvera Street was consulted. Mom got the usual. Death of natural causes. As if there is such a thing when it’s you.
semi-soft Trader Joe’s bulk cheap
and he’s impressed
with ten dollars less a pound then Cambonzola
like his last girlfriend a hard butterscotch
ripped off cellophane exterior
he brags about any new acquisition which I
almost spit up the crudettes of Roquefort
more like Sizzler Salad dressing
basted into brie
when we got back together
he started over on a new diet
the Ultra Slim Fast
in the Trader Joes Newsletter
frozen only $1.79 each
to stock his refrigerator
at the first light we broke
pulling up next to a dinged turquoise spider
he pointed to a platinum dent
you said you wanted to know
when I’m attracted to other women
Last night I was sleep talking again. About missing Dorothy. Every new year she would issue a single word to the family ~ ominous and prophetic. I asked John who is home for Xmas to seance Dorthy and give me the word. SPELT for 2020. My first interpretation is always wrong but I have a year. It has nothing to do with my earlier spiel about my spell check suddenly not working. The tedium of googling stupid words that I spell right when I finally google them. Nothing to do with the flour either.
You may not know this but I am a hunchback. For this I need gentle chronic relief. With the OPIOID CRISIS those of us who take legal drugs have been targeted first by the DEA. Specifically our doctors and pharmacies. I was forced to change medications this last week, transitioning from something that worked for years. I was given SUBOXONE. Within minutes my right kidney said ouch no don’t do this. But my options were not multiple choice.
Day 2 – woohoo NO PAIN, plus and infusion of mood elevation. I was quasi more human than usual. Not a scintilla of pain OH JOY tis the season!! I wasn’t hungry either.
Day 3 all of that changed. The side effects went into overdrive so I called Allison Strong more expert than most doctors. She suggested I might be taking too much. So I cut in half my dose and then another half.
By day 5 I thought for certain I was having a heart attack. Dizziness, faint, headache, stabbing heart pain, difficulty breathing etc. etc. etc. I called my husband to say farewell but he was busy and recommended water, keep the phone close. I went to the fire department and had them take my blood pressure and I was high and I’m usually low. I called my husband again and I said you really fucking hurt my feelings that you don’t want to comfort me when I’m dying. He recommended I not take anymore which I interrupted adversely as if I was going to swallow more? We hung up but I’m hearing HELLO? Hello? I said HELLO? He said WHAT DO YOU WANT NOW? I said I must have butt dialed you. Sorry.