Catching Up on a Friday

It's struggling to rain here, which puts us up on most of the country where snow is still falling like it's forgotten how to stop. But it gives the mornings these queer glowing grey casts that make me sort of sleepy and confused.

Driving out of the carport this morning, a little later than normal since I was at work late last night, I paused backing out as this full grown coyote walks into the parking space next to my car, and just looks at me, face tired and a little sad. I wanted to stop, and comfort him, offer him food or rest or whatever his poor coyote heart wanted, find out what drove him down into our carport at 9:30 in the morning.

It was so strange, surreal like a movie. He stood there like a dog, just watching me. And even though I know he's going to go eat someone's cat – which is what you do when you're a coyote and the neighborhood is full of snacks for the taking – I still wanted to hold onto him, cry against him. He looked how I felt, raggedy and shedding and a little lost.

I need to write, find some solace in that, I guess. It's usually there to be found.

Mike has taken to entertaining himself with the canned air. He has two bottles of it, and in addition to spraying it at the cats (the white one, already too cross-eyed to see enemies approaching, just wrinkles his nose and braces for attack. Georgie, sadly, freaks out completely upon even seeing the canned air), has now also taken to trying to spray me with it. If we have to call the paramedics because I've "accidentally" kicked him in the head, so be it. (This is like when I was taking Krav Maga, and he thought he was too strong for me to take down, and was so, so wrong. Of course, we didn't call the paramedics then either. But not too many boys want to admit to "injury via being a dumb ass." although I'm guessing it's a typical symptom).

However, he now has a dozen or so beer bottles lined up, all filled with various levels of beer, and is blowing the air into or over them to produce "musical works." Whether or not this is better than the "beeramid" remains to be seen.

My life? Oy. It's not even funny anymore. Okay, it's a little funny.


In an effort to avoid Mike and his beer bottle orchestra last night, I harassed various acquaintances until someone was willing to entertain me, and we ended up at this: The Moth. Every month they offer a topic, and people come up and tell 5 minute stories and it was a lot of fun. Made me wonder if I could actually tell a coherent story (with a point) to an audience. I'm a good public speaker, I can tell a story, I can read my work, but I'm not sure I could do a combination of those things.