Sunday morning so it smells of bacon and pancakes around this joint, a green frog is croaking from somewhere right here on the porch and it's getting steamy already.
There is no longer any debate in the late afternoon about whether or not to turn on the air conditioner and it's probably ridiculous for me to ever shut it off but I can't stand the house closed up, doors not opened to the front and back porches, kitchen door open, screened door closed so that I can talk to the chickens when they come up to ask for grapes or whatever else I might have handy that I would want to share with them.
Maurice is lounging beside my laptop, one side crammed against it, the other barely touching my coffee cup. She looks up at me and asks that perpetual and eternal cat question, "Meow?" which in this case probably means, "Bacon?"
What am I doing today? I've already read most of the paper and it just makes me feel mean and itchy down in the bones. Such insanity going on in this world and it is ever thus. Humanity makes one step forward and takes three steps back, I swear. If I were the aliens who perpetuated this mess I'd just bomb the whole planet but perhaps we amuse them. Perhaps they sit up there watching us on whatever version of iMax theaters they have and laugh their little gray-green asses off at us as we preach and pray and fuck up our planet and worry about same-sex marriage and struggle and sometimes get it right (perhaps they even wipe a little tear away from their ocular orbits when they view those heartrending videos of cats saving children from mean dogs) and perhaps they're contemplating bringing back the dinosaurs just because they can and wouldn't THAT be awesome?
And still, Family Circus persists and probably will forever and ever, amen and god damn, those children need to grow the fuck up already.
I'm not really feeling bitchy. I am just expressing bitchy thoughts.
Here's a few more re: Facebook:
I am not and never will be a character from a TV show, a book, or a movie and I could not be less interested in who you think you are. I do not give a shit what color my aura is. I am not a famous painter nor do I want to know which one I resemble the most. When presented with one of those word graph things wherein words are hidden, I always see the word "fuck" first. This goes without saying. I don't really give a shit when people make picky grammatical errors. And to those who do let me just say- Get a life. I also don't believe that making natural bug traps can eliminate the need for Deet. Not around here, anyway. I don't believe that posting pictures of either brave soldiers or memes about saving the planet do one damn thing for anyone. Nor do I have to take a quiz to find out if my soul is hippie, punk or goth, which is the latest quiz I see posted on that horrible time-suck, life-wasting website and you may reasonably ask why I even ever read Facebook and I will answer with these words:
Interspecies friendship videos.
Show me a video of the loving relationship between a dog and a baboon and I will lose my mind.
Also, I don't mind seeing pictures of your kids if you don't post fifty thousand of them a day.
Sometimes I am vaguely interested in what you may be having for breakfast though.
And of course, one MUST keep up with Keith Richards on Facebook.
Speaking of which, we have had our pancakes (apple, flax, cinnamon, blueberry, pecan) and our bacon too. Mr. Moon is going to go fuss around with his boat in the garage which means he needs some Deet because the yellow flies are hell. I am feeling incredibly languid and may just sit here within arm's reach of my cat doing the crossword and watching the birds and the chickens and the way the light is falling on the backyard in puddles of silver. I have been thinking a lot about our cultural obsession with always being busy and productive and fuck that shit. Who's going to do all the crap around here when I die?
No one, that's who.
And guess what? It won't matter.
So how's your Sunday going?