YOUR SPECTER IS CALLING

I can’t sleep.  I can’t even think of sleeping yet due to the last 24 hours.  The dog is ill.  The refrigerator is broken.  The faucet in the bathroom won’t switch to shower any more.  Not to mention, our 33 year old daughter has been living with us for a month because she broke her leg on Ronnie’s birthday.

I am a pragmatic person.  Of these things tonight, I know the most worrisome is the dog.  Refrigerators can be fixed or replaced.  We have a second shower option.  Alex’s leg is healing nicely.  In a couple weeks, she will return to weight bearing on her right leg.  

The dog, however, cannot be replaced.  She is laying on the floor next to my chair sleeping.  I am fervently hoping she returns to her perky self tomorrow.  I’d gladly clean up a serious puke or any other regular dog mess if that will make her feel better.  She’s 9 or 10.  It’s not time, Sheba.  It is not time yet!

We are fortunate to have our old refrigerator downstairs.  Crucial things have been moved.  We’ll call the repair place in the morning.  I have set my alarm for 7:00 a.m. when the vet’s office opens.  Still, my sleep cycle is off in some distant place that I can’t see even with binoculars.  I asked my daughter, “Who did we piss off?”

The year 2020 continues to have unpleasantness rippling through it.  A friend was talking about preparing for Halloween this year—yes, already.  She bought a wild looking costume collar for her dog.  We discussed throwing wrapped candy at the trick or treaters standing on the sidewalk.  With proper aim, this could be fun.  At least, they’ll be wearing masks.  Of course, who knows if there will be any trick or treaters.  

My other friend pointed out that Halloween is on a Saturday this year.  Folks lament that such a wonderful night for a party has been trashed by a mere global pandemic.  My opinion is that Halloween is not the really terrifying evening this year.  I rather think just three days later is the most hair raising night of the year in the United States.  If one wants to tremble in fright, hear chilling screams, and witness a horrible floating head, no haunted house is required on November 3, 2020.  Although I don’t enjoy voluntarily submitting myself to any of these things, simply watching election night results will have the same effect on any thinking person’s mental state.  Therefore...

VOTE BIDEN/HARRIS...or just fucking vote, America, YOUR SPECTER IS CALLING.

Joceile

8.30.20

Postscript:  The dog is fine.  It turns out there was a relationship between the broken refrigerator and the distressed dog.  When we try to reset the refrigerator, there’s a loud pop.  We didn’t notice it but it is very scary to the dog.  In her ears, it sounds like a firecracker in the kitchen which is one of her favorite places.  I witnessed the causal relationship this morning when the dog seemed like her normal self waiting for breakfast until I pushed the refrigerator button.  She had to leave immediately with a hangdog look.  Apparently, undistracted observation was required to solve this puzzle.

Picture:  For awhile, the refrigerator insisted it was the Sabbath.  No button pushing would change its mind.  Finally, it died.  What do refrigerators know anyway?