Abandoned & Forsaken - Day 2; Log Entry 1: When I was a child (an actual child, not the grown infant that Michie so callously and hurtfully accuses me of being) my phone number was 277-4582. I remember this for a couple of reasons: 1. I held high hopes, as I deciphered the number into text, that it would spell out asshole only to have it fizzle into bitter, disappointing gibberish 5 digits in. That kind of trauma leaves a mark. 2. Memorizing the family phone number was like a right-of-passage. That and lying about having clean underwear on were the two main criteria we had to meet before being allowed to cross the street For some reason, all the really fun stuff happened either IN or ON THE OTHER SIDE OF the street. I draw upon this fossilized memory because, it occurred to me, back then I knew not only my phone number but, both sets of my grandparents numbers, friends, aunts & uncles, the local movie theater, correct time, the weather, etc ad infinitum. And, now...if I strain and focus really hard, I have about a 50/50 shot of getting Michies celly right. If I blow it on my first attempt, it is a wash for the rest of the day. How all this plays a part of my survival will, hopefully, become clear as I progress. Mich ran off and left me again this weekend. She didnt even come home from work last night. Just jumped in her car and drove to Appalachia. This meant that hunger was about to become a very real issue in my world. I had to milk my brain of every drop of cunning and resourcefulness to survive the evening in comfort. Acting on the adage that, Fortune favors the well-prepared I was able to recall that I had written her phone number down and put it somewhere near my chair, for just such an emergency. Now, I needed only to find that single scrap of paper among the mountain of incoherent jottings and Pixie Stix wrappers that litter my area. But, find it I did! (OK, Im kidding about the Pixie Stix wrappers but -- remember those? They used to put pure sugar in a tube and sell it as candy? WTF? Do they still make those?) I called and asked her politely to call Sams Wings and order me a couple of dozen -- cooked extra EXTRA crispy. But, apparently what she ordered was, Two dozen hot wings -- just a little PINK on the inside couldnt eat em. Gross. Kwim? So, now, to protest her frequent abandonment of the household, I have been left no choice but to stage a hunger strike to get the point of my frustrations across. And, in an unprecedented showing of solidarity, those two idiots cats, Dip & Shit have elected to join me. In fact, they have already started. I will begin right after breakfast...if we have any milk, that is with Michelle Long nowhere to be found
Posted on: Sat, 26 Jul 2014 19:27:35 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015