Holy cold, Reader – Autumn is in full swing at Chez Bang Bang, bringing with it rain and dampness and time for socks and jackets and babushkas when venturing outdoors. It’s always when it’s getting like this outdoors that I wonder why the heck I’m still sitting here North, by the lake.I mean, technically I could pick up and move any-ol’-where I’d like, to warmer climes. What am I waiting for, is the question I ask myself.
It’s tough to move away, I’d think, when you have friends, family, job – a whole life – to start all over without any of that? Would just be so hard to do. I know so many who have done that, and I admire their gumption, and also miss them. I guess I’m just more content than I am restless with my life here to wanna leave it, so I guess I need to write a book, have it turned into a movie, generate millions of buckaroos, and move all my friends with me. It’s really the only solution, Reader. So basically I guess I’ll be in Ohio for a while longer.
In the meantime, here I sit in my cold house because some things you learn from childhood, and our gol’dern heat wasn’t allowed to turn on until the 1st of November, because that’s Winter, not before, so suck it up, put on a sweater and throw a log on the fire. I, fortunately, do not have to throw a log on the fire, but merely press the “on” button to the gas fireplace and it will knock the chill right offa this place in no time flat.
But it’s cold in here, because I’m just too comfy to wanna move this cat from my lap.
Plus, as good as I am to her, she growls at me and will rear around to give me a quick chomp if I disturb her “zen.” So why risk it, I already have a spidey bitey I’m fighting.
Which, of course speaking of my heath matters, I’m still hooked up to my special vacuum. The wound is filling up, and I’m eating for health and healing, but I guess it’s just going to go at it’s own pace.
I was a little down in the feel-sorrys-for-myselfs, which is just ridiculous, I know. Rationally, I know I don’t have it very bad at all. But then irrationally, I just want to be back to my regular shitty health, stat. Maybe it was my bemoaning my poor lot, but this week I received two special deliveries, one sent from my beautiful friend in Texas, the other from my beautiful cousin, who popped in Tuesday in a surprise visit.
Now it wasn’t a total surprise, because she gave me a bit of advance notice she was almost here. She didn’t warn me too far in advance or I’d have made a beeline to start cleaning something. She knows me.
However. I did have a little notice, Reader. And you’d have thought I would have used those moments to tidy myself up a bit. It wasn’t until much later that evening when I looked in the mirror and saw the Trixie Bang Bang I presented to company, including my cousins 20-something son. Disheveled hair in a messy pony. A tank top with minute holes all over the front from something, Garth knows what, no bra. Nipples clearly evident. Pajama pants with no undies.
That was my look for company, which thank goodness was also family.
I texted her late that night and sent apologies for looking like a hobo and having my nipples out.
I just didn’t realize, Reader. Now I know. And the next day I made myself put on a bra just for practice, even though I had no where to go and no one to see.
So yeah. I’m sitting here with haphazard nipples out in a cold house, with the only vacuuming that’s getting done is the one on my foot.