Molly Goatwax

All A-glo

Hubby gave me flowers but no one will kiss me because I am radioactive! zzzzt. Bummer! zzzt. Time to plug in the strings of light-up eyeballs and prime the fog making machine! zzzzzzzt. Perhaps I can power some glow-in-the-dark special effects on my own. zzzxt.

Going Radioactive

Today I am going to get a PET scan. I had a CAT scan, but I didn't have any cats in there bothering me, so I guess they'll scan for any kind of pet. No morning walk! No metal! No tatoos! No eating! When I figured out how hungry I was going to get before they saw me, I called for an earlier spot. After I make good my escape, I'll go scarf down a bunch of sushi and beer at Cross Street Market. Nothing wrong with my appetite.

Garages of the rich and famous

Supposing you wanted a place to keep your horse and a few cars. But you also want a workshop out there and a studio or an office. Oh, and throw in a wet bar kitchenette and a flush, so you wouldn't have to bother going to the big house. You could always let your buddy-between-jobs, Kato, stay out there so he can help with chores around the place. He can keep his stuff in the garage's attic next to the spare croquet set.

nrg

Can you believe that it took four hours to find my car key today? It's a good thing I don't have a job.

But first

I have to find where Hubby put my car keys.

Attention!

A new day! A fresh week! Time to tackle that to-do list! Perhaps while I run around getting errands done, Hubby can stop my e-mail accounts crashing this computer...

a two fer

the damp

Although there was good news at my doctor's appointment this morning, I wept as I described the old traumas that took me there. Then, still sad later, I took myself off to the killer staircases to get myself breathing. On a flat place in the side of a hill in the woods was a stone wall where I sat to cry in the rain. The sadness took me, I cried not only for myself and for Patrick, but for my mother and her suffering, for our daughter who died as an infant, for my friends who have been murdered, for all the futility...and in the rain a cat approached. This grey tabby was so full of complaint that I told it that if it was in heat, I couldn't help out. Loud and insistant, the cat head-butted me all over my arms and back until, of course, I started patting. A tag on his collar told me he was called Louie and we were in his back yard. So I sat there telling Louie all about it. While the conversation was cheaper and more satisfying than psychiatry, it got quite wet. I'll be looking for him again. If only Southern California could recieve the blessing of rain. 

huh. again.

After I ate my stolen tomato I went south of downtown to pick up my "painting" from the show that was the centerpiece of the studio tour event. I didn't attend the opening Friday night. I headed there and chickened out. This afternoon I signed my piece out and yanked it off the wall and was stopped before I could leave. Some famous poet bought ( This Way to ) The Moustache Ride. I should have gone to the opening. I should have taken a picture of my piece. They should have told me before I fought all that traffic to fetch it home. On my way uptown I stopped by the art school to advise the Director of Campus Safety that one of our own, Patrick Downey, had succumbed to his fight with cancer and also to tell him that I am planning a crayon attack on the Main Building's main heating grate. Perhaps I can endow a coathook in the Rover's Equipment Room. On my way out of the Director's office, Dave told me it was all on him, now. "Better you than me" I said. That used to be my office.

a new day

This morning I ate the stolen tomato as I walked along, rather than place it in my friend's newspaper rack. As I looked at the falling leaves and the nuts on the ground, a zypher ruffled my shirt and my spirits lifted a bit. Life is a crap-shoot.