Good morning coffee

Watching Skins again this morning. Attempting to drink coffee, but it's on the table and I'm on the couch. I can't even move.  I have to go to work.
I. don't. want. to.
(picnic, lightning)

Skins and I

It seems, the older I get the more I appreciate the British series Skins. Especially the first two seasons, it really is the epitome of being young. It wasn't the experience that I had as a teenager, nor would  have I approved of anything they did in the series at that age, but the sentiment is still the same. It captures the age when you have no knowledge of regret or mistakes. When you have the energy for anything and the world is full of endless opportunities. Before the world wears you down and you feel too old for things, before it feels like time is up.
At that age, all the doors are open. It's only afterward, years later, that they begin to close.
When you're a teenager, the world tells you that you're old enough to know better. But it isn't true at all. They keep saying it though; that's how the doubt gets you. Finally, you realize that, maybe you are too old for some things.
That's the beginning of the end.
(picnic,lightning)

Get up & the do somethings

You know why I loved Kurt Vonnegut? He was himself until the day he died and didn't care what anyone else thought. That takes a great amount of courage. I don't know whether it's courage, exhaustion, or deep spiraling depression that is fueling my case of the fuck its, but I no longer care what anyone else in this awful state thinks of me. If it didn't get me fired, I would dye my hair turquoise tomorrow. I don't want to put it off anymore. I checked out of this town months ago. 

Who knows if I was ever here? 

I hate this place. It's not a secret.

The only thing I can't do, is keep up appearances. 

I guess I can write. That may stem the tide. 

(picnic, lightning)

the squirrel

There is a squirrel in my attic.
We have had a man from the rental company come and shoo it out before. He even cut down the tree limbs that overhung our roof (in hopes of deterring the squirrels from returning).
It was only a matter of time.
The squirrel hath returned.
At least we were told it was a squirrel. It certainly does not sound like one. Before the man came with his vein attempt to rid us of the beast, it had gotten lost in our attic. In the confusion and panic that came with being lost among, what I can only assume were, boxes of moldy Christmas decorations, baubles, family photos, and other kitch left by previous tenants...it began to cry. A terrible whimper that resonated throughout the house, turning into a wailing screech.
Our dog, not knowing where the cries were originating from, would run up and down the hall, barking at the ceiling.
We could not scold her for barking at nothing.
I did not know that squirrels cried. Now, I do not believe that they cry.
We think that it was something larger, more sinister, than a squirrel. That, we are victims of a mass conspiracy, covering up the existence of a much larger mammal.
The roof has begun to leak again. I wonder if that has anything to do with the squirrel...and not the rain.