This post is in response to me being told to update this more regularly.
Every morning I wake up and stare longingly outside at the water wishing that I was a fish. I imagine myself leading the crusade against fisherman. Teaching other fish my sure fire methods of avoiding the mighty hook and living to see a tomorrow. I’d spent the afternoons teaching my thousands of fish children how to scare swimmers and how to steal the worm off hooks. Nights I would spend with my mermaid lover, Rosalita, staring up at the stars hoping all the thousands of my fish children don’t get stuck in a net or eaten by a slightly larger fish.
Once my day dreaming is done I take a shit and a shower, and sometimes a shit again. Which is the worst. Something about being halfway through with a shower makes me have to shit.
This is when I smoke about half a jazz cigarette and head out on walk number one of the day. I like to get my legs moving early in the morning. At the end of my road is an abandoned house that looks super haunted at night. I walk by it wishing I had the courage to look inside. I don’t, so I keep on going, walking until I hit the large fork in the road before turning back around and heading home.
Back home I make a grilled cheese and some soup. Usually white clam chowder. New England I think, I always mix the two clam chowders up.
Once lunch is over I sit down and write. Usually about six or seven minutes into it I’ll get up and treat myself to a beer, scotch or vodka for working so hard. Next few hours are a blur of punching random letter keys and drinking creativity juice. This continues for anytime between four and six hours, sometimes more, usually not less. Well sometimes less, if someone calls and wants to go to happy hour, then usually less.
Dinner is usually ramen noodles or take out. Every now and then I will cook a nice meal, but I have to be in the mood for it. I like cooking Italian food because it reminds me of being a kid and my dad’s cooking. Also because I love making garlic bread. Sometimes I’ll take a picture of the garlic bread and post it online, to show off my garlic bread skills. Skills that I have in spades. I’m relatively certain that’s the expression I’m going for. It might be wrong, it might be right, but there is one thing certain, I’m not going to fact check it.
By nightfall I’m digested and ready for my next walk. I take another jazz cigarette and head out. I usually do this walk without music. I need to be more aware as darkness has by now fallen in my quiet beach town, and I can take no chances walking in the dark without one of my senses. As I walk past the haunted house I stop this time and stare. Perhaps I’ve had too much of my jazz cigarette; my courage is slightly higher than normal, so I decide to get a little closer.
The house is much creepier than I had imagined. I look around, hoping that a car will be coming by and I’ll have a reason to abort this clandestine mission. Much to my dismay, there is no such car, so I continue closer to the house, but not before I switch my cell phone flashlight on.
A few more steps and there I am, right about to look through the window and get the payoff I’ve been dying for when I see the lights flashing. The blue, red, and white lights danced along the haunted house and into the sky. This was it, game over. They would absolutely check my pockets and find another jazz cigarette and it would be off to the big house for me. The cop approached slowly.
“Sir, can I ask what you’re doing on this property?”
“My pet lizard seems to have gotten off his leash.” I yelled as I took off running down the street.
It must have surely been a sight to see. All six foot six, three hundred pounds of me running down the street all wide legged, chasing Repeat, my pet Lizard. I call him Repeat because he says everything in doubles. He’s always repeating himself. Repeat.