Friday, June 23, 2006

This is choochoo, reporting from inside the waterfall

When I started working nights at the retirement home, one of the first things I was told, was that we were there to ”provide a service for the patients”. Well, I wish someone would inform the patients of that. Quite a few of them seem completely convinced that it’s some sort of hostage situation. FYI – my job would be so much easier if people would just bloody stop escaping already. I’m not saying that it’s not terribly amusing searching all over town for more or less nekked old people (although it really isn’t), or that I’m not relatively well paid for doing so (everything’s relative, right?), it just seems a bit unnecessary.
And damn, they’re hard to find, as well. Who knew that someone approaching a hundred years old, clinging on to their walkers for dear life, could move that fast? It almost fills you with awe.

But now I’m on vacation, thank god. And wouldn’t you know it – as soon as I got off work on the very last day before my vacation, it started to rain. And by that, I mean that these massive, grey monsterclouds have completely taken over the sky and is bombarding everything with those fat monster raindrops that usually follow monsterclouds. It’s been raining ever since. The gutters gave out ages ago, and water is now pouring down the walls and windows. It’s like sitting inside a waterfall. Kinda pretty, but I haven’t decided on wether or not I like it yet. I think that maybe I don’t. I’ll have to think about it some more, and get back to you later.

Friday, June 16, 2006

I have commited POETRY

What's that? Wierd and unexpected? Yes, well, it scared the shit out of me, as well, but there you go...

Behold, my poem:

Big, dumb and stupid Freddy O’Moule,
Discovered, in the woods, a large, funny hole.
Into the dark hole he stumbled and fell,
And tumbled and rolled all the way into hell.
He landed, quite painfully, on a large, pointy rock,
And as he looked around, he had a terrible shock.
There, in the corner, was his late wife, Pat.
“My god,” thought Freddy “Was she always that fat?”
He looked at her fearfully as he struggled to sit.
She said: “I knew you’d end up here, you worthless sack of shit.”
“I’m sorry,” said Freddy “I really can’t stay
Just thought I’d stop by. Now I’ll be on my way.”
“Once you’re here,” she said “You can never go back.
After you fell in, they closed up that crack.
You’re trapped here now, baby. In hell, here with me.
You’ll be stuck here forever, and you can never flee.”
Now Freddy is living some horrible dream,
And sometimes, when it’s quiet, you can still hear him scream.


Thursday, June 15, 2006

life lessons and moving furniture

Last night I worked a 12 hour graveyard shift, and it taught me something very important: it is indeed possible to fall asleep while riding a bicycle. I woke up when it slammed into the railing on the railroad bridge, not far from my house. This lesson occurred while I was riding home from work early, early in the morning. Also, because I had absolutely no strength left in my legs, I rode ridiculously slowly with all the steadiness of a drugged bat. This being a very small town where everybody knows everyone’s business, I’m sure that the word of me being drunk at eight am has spread everywhere by now.

Finally I got home, where I could collapse in bed and sleep until five pm. Once upon a time, my bed was the best place on earth. Unfortunately, it has started to turn against me. The springs have begun to poke up through the mattress, biting me in the back and waking me up. Then I have to get out of bed to pull on the fabric, so that the little monsters are covered again for a while. I dare not even imagine what would happen if I was to attempt having sex on it. The springs would probably all come popping out, like murderous versions of a jack-in-a-box, and kill the both of us. Not that I’d have the energy to do something like that these days, anyway, with all the overtime I’ve been putting in.
There’s another bed in one of my guestrooms that I love. I don’t want to sleep in there, though, and moving bed nr.1 to my bedroom and bed nr.2 into the guestroom, seems like a very strenuous job. If I couldn’t muster up the energy to have sex, I definitely don’t have the strength to move furniture around. Anyone wanna volunteer to do it for me? Move the beds, I mean…

Sunday, June 11, 2006

On mud and such

I hate gardening SO friggin’ much. If they can grow a human ear on the back of a mouse, why can’t somebody invent a type of grass that only grows up to a certain length? And don’t even get me started on weeding… I think I hate weeding most of all. So today I’m ass-up in a flowerbed, pulling at the damn things, when I suddenly feel something crawling up my leg, and look down just in time to see a bunch of the thickest, longest, hairiest damn buglegs I’ve ever seen in my long, sinful life, disappearing up my skirt. Naturally, I freak out. And by that, I mean that I really freak out. If there’s one thing I can’t hack, its creepy crawlies with long legs.
Anywho, I fly straight up in the air and proceed to jumping around the garden, all the while making short, sharp squeaky noises. Pathetic, I know. Unfortunately, it doesn’t end there… Earlier that day, I’d been using the garden hose to play with the dog. As a result, a very muddy puddle of water had formed there. I’m now squeak-jumping straight towards it. You can probably see where this is headed, huh?
At just the right moment, I slip and land face first in the mud. The dog, convinced that this is some brilliant, new game that I just made up, jumps right in after me. After about two and a half seconds, I’m completely covered in mud and there may or may not be a crushed monster of a spider somewhere on my person.
Obviously, I head straight for the shower, where I stay until I am absolutely sure that there's not so much as a spider-fiber left on me anywhere. Coming out of the shower, I notice that there's water all over the floor. The cabinet is leaking... It's obviously going to take a lot of time and towels to get the situation under control, and before I'm even close to managing that task, the door flies open. In comes the doggie to see what sort of exciting adventures I'm up to now. It doesn't take much to excite the doggie, really. Since she's been mucking about in the garden all day, she brings with her quite a bit of dirt which, of course, blends very nicely with the water on the floor, creating... well... filth.
Seeing the newly created muck on the floor, her whole expression changes. It goes from a completely mindless yay-I'm-all-worked-up-because-something-fun-might-be-happening, to a look of fascination and slight determination. I can practically see the thought forming in her head. She's not terribly complicated, you see. Before I can stop her, she dives straight into the puddles and starts rolling and wriggling until her white fur turns a nice shade of brownish grey. So now the time had come to bathe the dog. And let me tell you - as dumb as she can be at times, she can spot a bath coming up a mile away. I've only to reach for the dog shampoo, before she bolts and dissapears under the sofa. Ever tried to get a full-grown husky out from underneath the couch? It's no small job. Not when it doesn't want to come out, anyway. But I manage. Outside I go, heading for the garden hose again (since the shower cabinet is still leaking and I don't want to cause another flood), dragging the poor dog on a leash. During the whole bathing-process she looks as if she's being tortured, and as soon as we're done, she starts running around the garden like a lunatic. Probably looking for something else to roll around in. That seems to be what dogs do best, after all.
By the time I'm done with the gardening, the shower and the dog, it's already getting late, and the only thing I have enough energy for, is vegetating in front of my computer.

But hey, at least the blog's updated now:)