She-Rah has left the couch folks! A rather unpleasant, selfishly embroidered
Armenian-American, overtly bitchy, gay "friend" of Mr. Wilson’s who has occupied
the better half of this house for more than six grueling weeks. I have had moments of insanity, wishing to
graft my wrists with a Ballpoint pen rather than listen to his insistent,
meaningless chitter-chatter about Pink’s “cute little baby Willow” or the
latest developments in his lawsuit against his landlord. A vortex of negative energy has been lifted
from Mr. Wilson’s residence (I do inhabit what was once considered to be the
attic) and in spirit of celebration we went shopping last night followed by a
few cocktails with the gorgeous Ms. Whitney (yes, I did dance & it felt
good).
Sporting some of my new threads, I sit here at the main hub
WEHO Starbucks watching the meanders, the bodybuilders, the hawkers and such.
This is a town of characters with more Estrogen than a Tammy Faye Clinic. Deep breath – yes, spending that money does
very much mean that I have to earn more
. . . but I got more than a few plans in motion and with the absence of Darth
Serbiat I can finally get back into the groove.
I really haven’t properly acknowledged Mr. Wilson’s
consistent and constant assistance over this past year. Of course, none of this was meant to be permanent,
I was to have won my rightful compensation by the hand of judicial
righteousness; I was to have a stable base of income with 24 Carrots; I was to
have catapulted my career forward as an accomplished Chef debuting on ABC’s
“The Taste” . . .but at last, I got under served, over diverted & handed an
unflattering life lesson invoice. Mr. Wilson isn’t perfect, much like a hobbit
clinging to the hills of past both clutter & virtual memory; but he is a
true friend through and through. He is
a peculiar blend of analytical rationalization and untempered sensitivity and
often perceived as being a bit negative . . .
he really isn’t once you get to know him. I think he just needs a pet to love him
unconditionally and a bit of a cleansing from some of these quasi-evil
“friends” such as She-Rah. Here’s a
recent conversation to give you an idear of our relationship:
“So . . . it has been long and painful, and I feel like I
need to be shriven, and smudged, and .
. I ddon’t know what else.” Wilson (referring to She-rah finally leaving)
“Don’t be whipping your card out. You had charges dated 9/21
for $315.38 and $247.48 that I hadn’t seen receipts for. Am Guessing those might be food bought
Wed??? Touch base when you get the
chance” Wilson (referring to my frivivlous spending habits)
“I will take a looks and try and make some semblance of my
expenditures” me
“There are two bulldogs here and a really cute beagle mix!”
me (nipping at Wilson's heals)
Any word from you
lawyer . . what! No pets! Ozzie is as much of a dog as I need.” Wilson (Ozzie being the neighbors dog)
“They are letting me take both and we can return whichever
dog we don’t want” Me
“You had better be jerking my chain. If not you can return both now.” Wilson
So, I never went to the Pound and I did ring another $360 at
a clothing store . . . I am a torturous, reoccuring wart to Mr. Wilson’s life . .
defiant to nearly all of his logical requests and cosmetic applications.
The man has suffered along my side, I owe him more than a dog but he’s
just going to have to settle for more fleas, barking & wandering walks
as I haven’t quite crested the my state of impermanence. I am getting closer, enlightened a bit and
leaning towards action that will ultimately turn this grayscale sketching into
a bold Miro depiction of borderless dreams.
Thank you Mr. Wilson for being the footing beneath my wandering ways without
you I surely would be ever more aloof.
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