Wet Thursday

Ernesto is a busy little boy.

Not quite a hurricane, but big enough to send things and people scurrying for shelter, he has dumped water on us for the past couple of days. This, in spite of being a whole state away at all times. Don’t get me wrong: a state in drought cannot afford to scoff at clouds. We prayed for rain, by God, literally, and He said, okaaay…if you’re suuuuuure…

My house is a morgue. If I could get the air down to freezing without paying with my firstborn? I would. It might make the smell more tolerable. Of course, if I could pledge my firstborn, I’d never have to pay the bill… Anyway, the place reeks of dead mouse, and I swear I will never forget the odor. It woke me up, creeping under my bedroom door at 5am, and assaulted my nostrils to the point I could not rest. Even the dozen candles I have burning are not helping. Cats are from Hades. I know this now. Honestly, though, I am madder at myself for having a life so full of stuff that the mice have places to hide and die. I can’t really look for them because there’s just too much crap to move.

I WANT WINTER NOW, PLEASE.

I am discovering I am not the only self-doubting, messed up person with monstrous fears of the future walking around here. The more people cross my path, the more normal I feel. It doesn’t diminish the pain of it, but it DOES diminish the isolation that magnifies it. Cuz, you know, I am a hermit and all.

I think that I am going to finally give in to the call of the buttermilk pancakes I have craved for a couple of days now. “COOOOOOOK UUUUUUSSSSSSS,” they hiss, playing ventriloquist with the syrup bottle. I hear and obey.

-Z