I have been feeling especially lousy lately.
Last night I went to bed at 7:30 p.m.
I awoke at 3:40 a.m. and saw a ghostly apparition of myself hunched
over the keyboard of my Mac. It was a weird and startling vision.
The me at the keyboard kept typing while the me-me in bed tried to
get his attention. Finally, he turned and glared at me. I've never
been at the receiving end of one of my glares before.
It was wonderful.
An odd thing happened last night right before bed. A neighbor knocked
on my door. She wanted to go out my backdoor. She said that she'd
locked herself out of her apartment, but had left her backdoor open.
So I let her walk through and let her out the back door. Now that
I think about it, I'm wondering how she got in the building if she
forgot her keys. Someone would have to buzz her in. She was alone.
You can take out your garbage out the back door, through a swinging
gate that locks, and lock yourself out that way. But how did she get
back in the building? You need a key for that. It makes me think she
was doing recon on me, now that I've thought about it. And that kind
of pisses me off.
The government contractor who bid out my job after my civil service
job was contracted out to a government contractor has laid me off.
They said they were letting me go for not inputting enough keystrokes
for the day.
I'm thinking of hopping a reefer for parts unknown. I'll go as far
as I can, maybe toward the Golden West. Heard there are jobs out West
and fruit grows on the trees. You can pick it off and eat it right
where you stand. Imagine that!
I won't wait 'til the railroad bulls
get me.
I'll jump off the train to avoid them,
break a leg. Then I'll be arrested on a vagrancy charge. But at least
it's three hots and a cot at the county work farm and hospital.
After I get out of the hospital, I'll
go to the work farm. They'll nickname me "Gimpy." Maybe let me water
down the chaingang instead of busting rocks on the side of the road.
It'll be just like Cool Hand Luke.
"Look at ol' Gimpy. He sure gets round
good on that bum leg. Git me some water, Gimpy."
"Sure, boss. Sure." I'll be more than
happy to help.
After I'm released, I'll go to one of
the President's Fair Work Labor Camps. Maybe become a trustee there
and get a good cot, one without all the mites on it. I'll listen real
good to the nightly Temperance and High-Mindedness Lecturers-telling
me that if I don't smoke, drink or gamble, and have $50,000 to contribute
to the President's Solid Gold Library Fund, that I, too, can be a
Temperance and High-Mindedness Lecturer.
It'll be a good life. As good as can
be expected, anyway.
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