but for the sleep circus it's lewis

[click image, now that I put the link in... sheesh... pudding....]


Gawd, it turns the brains into pudding and so Lewis is great for the lunatic hours of not being asleep when the world has stopped happening. When I finally fall asleep, maybe I catch snippets of dialog, but can just go back in the playlist to pick up where I dropped off. Rinse. Repeat.

We're having an atmospheric river. I think that's what they call them. Billy says five inches in store today. I don't have to look anymore. Billy is comprehensive on matters of weather, and he just tells me. Which is good because when the circus is kicking my ass, I need a cue to get myself to provisions before it will be a miserable time.

My forty-year case of mild agoraphobia is nowadays mostly up to my kneecaps, but there are wavules where it's up to my hips. It determines where I go for food.

I don't know if I ever told you, but I used to think the best place for me in my old age would be in a city apartment above a corner grocery. I would have had to have the walls all lined with mattress-thick soundproofing and walls and floor and ceiling all metal to keep out both the noise you can hear and the vibes you can't.

But that's silly.

If I'd go to all that trouble, the corner grocery would be killed off by the capitalist vampires ere long and I'd be having some meal service delivering or stuck having to make my way to some hellscape Whole Paycheck or Unsafeway, rushing through the aisles in a crouch over a sportscar grocery cart with my hair on fire to get OUT of there and struggling with stairs and heavy things to get back to my insulated remove.

But that was before I remembered that cities aren't like they used to be. Which was bad enough. Now they're full of things like millennials. Which would be quite worse than the years it took to armor myself from the misery at Pelican Bay and the terror and struggle of the people in my more immediate vicinity.

Bobby and Elmer kept taking turns being carted off to hospital, and I was in here piling up things to impede their agonies soaking through my walls and pulling me down off my chair, but then it got even worse. Their daughter in the midwest got cancer and they were stunned out of their habitual desperation.

They moved back there to be with her. Don't ask me how. I didn't look.

I think the thickness of this rain is doing most of the work for me right now, but the atmospheric pressure is waffling and making my ears ring in choppy, not very musical, alternating tones. If I open my front door the lake in the mudroom will mow me down, and by some weird accident, the usual roof leaks are not, even yet, leaking on me.

Maybe the handyman fixed something up there while I was off hen sitting? Still, I make the rounds to eyeball the situation, feel around for wet where it's supposed to be as close to dry as anything ever gets here.

I have to email That Asshole today. I have to resume getting things into little boxes. I have to try not to drop until it's at least 8pm, but Lewis and Hathaway can smooth out the bumps.

pipe up any time....