Good morning, world. I’ve been up since Dark O’Clock. I’m not happy about it. There wasn’t any one thing that kept me from sleeping. I was uncomfortable in a bunch of ways; the pillows moved and I couldn’t put them right, my head felt huge. Mostly, I was too warm. Yes, I could have removed the blanket. Unfortunately, doing so would allow the fan to blow air on me, and that’s just as bad. Instead of laying there alone, I actually got out of bed with Shawshank and threw a wrench in his morning routine. The coffee is good.
While I spent much of yesterday dealing with my hair and playing games, I kicked off the morning with a solid dose of nostalgia. I’m not a huge fan of comedy specials, with one major exception: Steven Banks’s 1989 FUCKING MASTERPIECE, Home Entertainment Center. I plugged that on the TV while I assumed my human form. I still know most of the first half by heart. New songs dropped on Just Dance, which is always a treat. I played as much as I could handle before the morning heat got to me, breaking my high score record on one of my favorite routines. I ate a handful of dry Cheerios for lunch, then spent more time than I wanted on sectioning my hair. Unfortunately, I need to make one more glowworm before I can finish installing today.
I don’t know what the fuck is happening here in TinyTown lately. About three weeks ago, someone was beat up and left in town. Shawshank knows this because a car came through work for gas, and the victim was in the backseat, being brought to the hospital. The authorities have been looking for him since. I was smoking a bowl outside a few days later, and a guy coming out of one of the other apartments complimented me on my hair. He made an unprompted comment about how the cops have been in town looking for someone, and it’s probably him. I took that as a sign to not involve myself in that shit and went back inside. Shawshank attempted to do the right thing and report him, got nowhere, so we washed our hands of it.
Friday evening, someone came knocking on the back door while I was streaming. I hollered that I’d be right there. I nearly was there when some crackhead looking bint tried walking into my kitchen looking for someone who wasn’t me. She argued with me about the address, and I told her I didn’t care if she was looking for #8 on the street address, we were apartment 8. This is not where she needed to be. She left. Whatever, mistakes happen.
Last night, we had just finished showering when it happened again. This time, another woman was banging and pulling on the front door. The front door has a hook and eye-style latch, and this bitch pulled it out of the doorjamb. Shawshank was just putting shorts on when it happened and came out of the bedroom shouting at her to get the fuck out of his house. Same thing, this isn’t #8 [street name]? It fucking might be but you’re still at the wrong apartment. She was looking for the apartment at the other end of the property. Shawshank yelled at the woman who lives in the apartment at the other end of the property to get her shit together and keep her friends over there.
Let’s hope today is less exciting.
