I’ve never considered my self a “handy” person, despite the fact that I have spent a great deal of my life in the throws of manual labor. This has not been by choice I can assure you. I can still remember the day my father told me I would be going to work with him. It was the end of my 6th grade year and we were out to dinner. “You’ll be going to work with me this summer.” He said. “What? As a plumber?” I said. “A plumber’s helper.” He replied.
If you’ve been reading this blog, or have at least watched the most recent episode of Walker’s Talkers, then you know that I have been ill. While I am feeling much better now, there was a period where I was convinced that I was about to change into my “final form”. A hybrid Brundle-fly like creature, more proboscis than man. Fortunately or unfortunately, I haven’t transformed into anything new, I just look like a man who is exhausted from not sleeping for several days, which makes more evolutionary sense.
This is going to make me sound like a weirdo, but I find the body aches and fever kind of relaxing while I’m ill. I’m kind of a tightly wound person, so when I become the brand of sick where I can’t do anything but lie down, its almost like a vacation. More’s the better if I become so shackled to the bed with fever and sweats that my mind starts to eat itself. There are people the world over that pay money for that kind of sensation, and occasionally, I get it for free. Nothing compares to that eldritch dread the sneaks up on you when you’re that sick.
I awoke this morning at 4:45 to what sounded like someone rewinding a video tape at full volume outside my window. I don’t know if it was squirrels, a pigeon protecting her young, or the swinging sounds of an amateur DJ. Regardless, I’m up and performing my morning ritual of trying to keep my cat off of my keyboard while I type this. My haggard appearance is of no bother to his satin-black face and gold-ringed eyes. He just wants to cuddle, and if he can keep me from my current task, more’s the better.
In my darker and more desperate moments I contemplate doing pornography. Not acting in it of course, but writing and directing. I already have a great adult film name picked out. Whitey Bulger. You know, after the famous Boston gangster*. Choosing that name might explain why my ideas have trouble catching on. I have yet to come up with a concept that I didn’t have to explain as majority of listeners stare at me dead-eyed. Anyway, I could never do it, because I don’t know how I would tell people about work without lying or staring at the floor and shuffling my feet.
My taxes are done and I will likely finish the new episode of Victorian Cut-out Theatre this weekend. My father will be on his way for a visit tomorrow afternoon and right now, I’m so relaxed that I almost don’t care that I was recently the victim of credit card fraud…almost.
As I’ve mentioned at the end of this week’s episode of Walker’s Talkers, I now have a Patreon page/campaign. Which means that if you like my work and want to help me support it, you can now give a monthly pledge. I’m already offering some neat rewards and will be offering more in the future (wink). So if you like what I do, and want to see it get better, please consider donating to my campaign, which you can visit by clicking HERE.
If I ever become a millionaire, I won’t spend money on an expensive foreign car, nor a large and empty house. I will however, spend an inordinate mount of money on cheese. I have a fondness for weird and expensive cheeses. I’m telling you this because I had to punish my cat yesterday for hopping on the counter and getting into a wedge of applewood smoked cheddar. This was clearly cause for anger, because cats should never be allowed to traverse “eating surfaces”, let alone steal food that isn’t theirs.
I am awake typing this at 3:35 AM.