I hate my own advice.
From my own Transit Report:
Exact on Sep 25
… there’s an inherent danger of arrogance and recklessness, and, if you’re not careful, a tendency to over-indulge in food and drink.
I was up really early Thursday morning with the cat making those horrendous & horrific hairball noises. On the pillow next to me.
Cat puke really isn’t much of an issue around here, I don’t normally let it bother me, but with my recent, wildly erratic sleeping patterns, that gut-wrenching upheaval really wasn’t what I wanted to hear, not at 6 in the morning, not while it seemed to be still dark outside.
However, when I can, I make an effort to coddle the one who loves me the most. So I got up, stripped the soiled linen from the bed, fixed her some breakfast then fixed me some coffee.
I had a long walk, middle of the afternoon, supposedly to clear my head, but what happened instead was a series of phone calls. There was a “maybe” trip to Dallas – okay, so I’m ambling along with an ear bud in my ear – talking to family about business – waving my arms about and carrying on – just another freak on the trail.
Details are far from sorted out, but so far, I’ve got a ticket out of here Friday afternoon, and I’ll be back sometime Monday. Or Tuesday, I suppose, it all depends.
I called up Bubba Sean because we were aiming for Sandy’s for Thursday evening’s meal, and when we finally connected, it was a simple, “yeah, I just got fired today,” line.
Mars. Mars at zero degrees of Pisces, not moving in any direction too fast. Just hanging there, frying. Simmering in its own juices, so to speak. Makes a pejorative angle to someone with something work-oriented at zero degrees of Gemini.
I’m trying to rearrange a little here, and I had a stack of books to take to the used bookstore, hoping to make enough for dinner. As it turned out, I had a fine time chatting with the bookstore employees, ascertaining that the weirdest question they’ve heard is, “Who wrote Dante’s Inferno?”
But my stack of books didn’t garner enough for the dinner. Bubba Sean paid. Thursday night special, runs about $3. Burger, fries, drink. Since I was hoping for a decent sunset, I kept waiting. He bought a cone. We watched the traffic and discussed his current state of unemployment. During the time we were there, he took three calls on his phone, and two of those were people looking to possibly hire him.
The sunset never appeared, shaded by clouds that didn’t turn into those brilliant backlit beauties we sometimes get. However, I did manage an interesting shot of the sign. Interesting to me, anyway. Ever since last summer, I’ve had an obsession with that neon.
