August 8, 2013
Tomorrow’s my birthday and I’m going to be 24. Right now I have no plans and I didn’t remind anyone that it’s my birthday. But I suspect some people will remember. Last year, I had a huge party and gotten so fucked up that I would wake up the following morning naked in the woods with blood on me, including my face. My friends did that to me. They were the woods in the back of my friend’s house, and the blood came from the Halloween store. My friends spent that entire next day trying to convince me I was a werewolf and that I killed someone on the evening of my birthday. But then I was like, hey the moon’s waning. They tried to tell me the full moon having anything to do with it was a myth. Anyway, the point is that I don’t remember my last birthday. This birthday I’ll remember, but I’m not really looking forward to it. I want to skip straight to Saturday.
Interesting thing about the moon though. Luna, lunacy, lunatic, that’s obvious, but there is statistically a greater amount of crime that occurs during the full moon. So back in the days of yore there were these criminalistic folks, probably men, or more often men. They get raving mad and go terrorize people in one way or another. Some of these men were kind of hairy, maybe, and back then there were no lights, just candles, and so the streets and homes were really dark. I don’t know about lighting the streets with candles, but the fact is, when there was a full moon, the nighttime was brighter, which made the streets a little safer, so it seemed. And I’m thinking maybe there were a few more people out on the street than usual. So a if hairy madmen begin to attack people at night, and the victims or police are aware that it was during the full moon, then they’re going to attribute it to a mythical creature because those people back then had wild imaginations. And a hairy, smelly, drooling lunatic looks an awful lot like a werewolf in the dark. It didn’t help that there were all those hysterical women back then, causing hysteria, because of their uteri. That’s not a real opinion just a facetious statement regarding the accomplishments of men and their confusion about women.
I’m confused about women too. And I could go on and on about Paula and Emma and blah blah blah fucking blah, but naahhhh. Instead I want to tell you about a cat. I went for a walk in the park, brought a notebook because I like the raw aspect of writing in a notebook instead of some kind of foreign technology. I just thought maybe I’d write a short story or start a novel. But as I began to scrawl, it all kind of sounded like I was just doing some more journal writing, so I don’t know. I decided to write a poem. But it sucked so I tore it up and threw it away. Anyway I heard the tiniest little meow like a squeak beneath the bench I was sitting on. I looked and it was this grey kitten, all fuzzy with some white tufts here and there. I picked it up and I was petting it, and it curled up in my lap and went to sleep. It was smaller than my hand. I looked around and didn’t see anywhere that the kitten could have come from.
I sat there for another hour, just contemplating life and things, unable to focus enough to read, too mentally lazy to write. I was just gazing off, people watching, pondering with this cat on my lap. Then I was getting set to leave, I put the kitten down and started to head home. The thing followed me through the park. When I finally got to a place where there were a lot of cars around, I picked up the cat. Then I just took her home. I gave her some tuna fish and water, and I hung outside with her so that she wouldn’t shit in the house.
When Paula came home I asked if we could keep her and she laughed and shook her head like she was amused by a 3 year old. But she said ok. So we went to the store and bought food, dishes, litter box and litter, toys, and scratching posts. Then we brought her to the vet. When they asked for her name, I hadn’t even considered a name. So I decided to name her Gary Oldman, even though she’s a girl.
Now as I’m sitting here writing in my journal, Gary Oldman is in my lap. Bwahahahahaaahaaahahaa. I think I’ll just call her Oldman for short.
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