Honey I’m Home

Hey there Vomkiteers!  I am back from my vacation to the bottom.  How was it down there?  Pretty bottomish.  Maybe not in the cellar of the Rock Bottom Inn, but in the garrett upstairs, mooning out of the window and getting crapped on by deformed squabs.  But that was yesterday and fortunately not only is today, today, but we are blessed with terrible recall.  Every day presents the chance to crawl up amnesiac from the bottom and emerge dumbly resplendent, at the very least to comb one’s hair, go to the corner store for a cup of noodles,  and possibly repeat one’s errors by nightfall.  Not that I ever make any…who remembers?

With such delightful white noise to keep me company, I have been very busy in the studio.  Working on some small things in the hopes of making a few sheckels next time out. 

My tattoo guy finally called back, left me a message.  Not only is he alive (hurrah!), but he is back in New York.  I am afraid to call him back, though.  Because  it means I will end up back on his table.  I miss it.  Just laying there in his studio while he holds me down with great strength in one hand and pricks my skin for a couple hours without even talking.  Don’t get me wrong, I want to go back to his table.  I thought I would set aside some money for it, and I didn’t.  Instead I frittered it away on prosecco and a 4G.  I do so love to fritter. 

Oh the mental insanity!  I entered my kitchen at midnight to get a glass of water a couple days ago and was greeted by a creature from Naked Lunch.

I have never seen a live waterbug (aka Really Big Cockroach) before.  I have only spied their carcasses in old factory buildings or alleyways.  Places my palm pilot warned me were unsavory.  And here I was in my own tidy kitchen, with the hellish spawn of Madagascar on my counter, its 2 inch antenna waving lazily in my direction.  I felt it sense me, we had communication.  I screamed, what do you think?  It scuttled a few inches, the merest gesture of retreat.  Once the initial spasm of terror was over, I realized I had to kill the beast.  But these giant things are notoriously tough.  You definitely don’t want to smoosh it with your hand or foot, for fear of the mental imprint of its crushed exoskeleton remaining forever in your central nervous system.  I opted to paddle it out of existence with a wooden cutting board.  And don’t you know that press it though I did, it did not go gentle.  It took many, many minutes before I finally heard a loud POP of its horrible shell cracking.  Nature, as if I were not proof enough, you are loathsome.

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