The big tease. False fall. Call it what you want, but I’ve lived through too many of them in North Texas. Wait; why am I experiencing deja vu?
That’s right; I say this every year, only this is the closest I’ve been to cutting out of here in nearly a decade. If the stars align, that is. Personal history implies I’ll be reposting this same blog 365 days from now.
Summer still lingers, the whore that she is, moving bed to bed but strategically leaving her toothbrush in every bathroom. She got them in bulk at Costco while grabbing soccer snacks before the separation.
Yes, I’m comparing summer to a newly divorced chick bouncing from bed to bed to stay afloat. If you have five friends, you’ll never need rent money. A different ride every night, with an alternating 5th guy for weekends; whichever offers the most to deter her from the competition he suspects. Sound complicated? Nah; I knew chicks who could’ve lettered in that lifestyle. I was usually Tuesday.
I recently realized I’m living in the longest, universally consistent place of my entire life; ever. Same mate, same house, same vehicle, same routine-ish (I shake it up from time to time). It feels like hugs instead of being pushed away. Seven years in a life with zero deception, and that’s not an exaggeration. None. I’m waiting for the bottom to drop out at any moment, but I have no hints of any on the horizon.
Statistically, now that I’ve put it into print and made it so…
Print.
Rip.
It’s overcast in the city this morning; gray against the green of my courtyard trees. Oddly silent for a school day, save the ambulance honking through the intersection. There’s a lot of air traffic taking advantage of the cloud cover, though. The military minded get it.
The birds have pooped-up my courtyard, and seeded it with who knows what from their leftovers. I’ll have a bit of a lawn issue soon. In return, they’ve taken care of my mosquito and Aphid problem. Fair trade.
The question is…
Do we hippie-out, and give in to the natural growth cycle; eventually becoming our own mini bee polinization plot? Get a big sign screaming “Do Not Mow!” for the HOA guys? I seriously tried to make something like that in a box outside, and it didn’t survive the summer. I forgot to water it. My bad.
I moved the bird feeder to the courtyard, and nature did the job for me.
A bus, a honk, and wait for the crash…nope; not this time.
Thank you, Dallas. You popped my nature bubble. I can’t believe I still want this on a larger scale.
The sounds of air-brakes come next. The garbage truck, house to house. They have AI cameras that scan properties; no bullsh*t.
Today’s sermon from the swing gets early dismissal. A-meh.
That’s not a typo.
I strike another before clearing the ritual space, and there’s a pop. Someone’s getting out of the cab.
I really didn’t want to narrate 1984: The Sequel, but I work with what society offers.
Ack. The gate opens.
What is it about the simultaneously experienced scents of drug store perfume and Porche exhaust that mentally scream the phrase, “I don’t wash as well as I should, but I’m trying harder?”
“Also, I’ll see you on Tuesday!”
Not that I know, but I know.
It’s very Big Brother, in a sense. The organization, not the reality show.
The birds scatter. My early warning system; on the cheap.
This is going to be the lamest revolution in the history of mankind; I can feel it. Some tiny country no one’s ever heard of in South America (meaning I couldn’t think of a specific country in South America who’s been through a noteworthy revolution without searching it on the internet; I’m in the zone) will be laughing at us. History will say it was epic; they’ll lie.
Dollar Store Revolution. I’m calling it now. Put me in for fiddy.
Tuesday comes once a week. Three if she showers.
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